


Nobody's Fault

by SoManyJacks



Series: Where did all these nugs come from? [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Masturbation Interruptus, Outdoor Sex, Sex Before Feels, moping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4303446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one was more surprised than Varric to find out he wanted Seeker Cassandra. Badly. Not sure whose fault it was, but someone was clearly to blame.</p>
<p>Still. It would pass. Infatuations always did. Probably wouldn’t even take long. Varric had been adventuring a long time; he knew how stupid it was to get involved with a colleague. Though no one else in the Inquisition seemed to get it. The place was crawling with lovesick fools. It was amazing anything at all got done in Skyhold.</p>
<p>Yeah. This would pass. It always did. Unless, you know... it didn't. Well, shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blame it on Lavellan

**Author's Note:**

> Goes along with the story line of [Dread Wolf's Legacy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3702131/chapters/8192417) and [Words Fail](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3987106/chapters/8950936), if you're playing along at home. There is some crossover dialogue between the works but it should (?) stand on its own. Comments welcome!
> 
> P.S. If you're into this kind of trivia, the title is from Beck's Nobody's Fault But My Own:
> 
> Who would ever notice you  
> You fade into a shaded room  
> It's such a selfish way to lose  
> The way you lose these wasted blues  
> These wasted blues
> 
> Tell me that it's nobody's fault  
> Nobody's fault but my own

Varric decided the whole thing was the Inquisitor’s fault. Easy enough to assign blame; a lot of things were Lavellan’s fault. She was like that. Granted the other “things” tended to be shit like restoring peace and order, banishing Fade rifts, making the world a better place.

Add to that list “being attracted to Seeker Pentaghast”, Varric grumbled to himself. They were in the Emerald Graves, chasing down leads on Red Templars. That morning, Vira Lavellan had apparently woken with a desire to turn Varric’s world upside down.

“Varric, I’ve got an idea,” she mentioned as they prepared to ride to the Veridium mine occupied by Sister Costeau. “If you sit on my shoulders, together we’ll be as tall as Seeker Cassandra.”

“And that will help... how?” Varric asked suspiciously.

“For all the smooching you two so obviously want to do,” Vira said, her eyes twinkling.

Varric and Cassandra exchanged a confused look.

“Could also come in handy for dancing,” Dorian called out.

“Here, let’s give it a shot.” Vira began chasing Varric, attempting to pick him up.

Cassandra rubbed her forehead. “Uggggh,” she said in disgust.

Varric laughed. “I don’t think it’ll work, Vira. I’m afraid of heights, you know.”

“Five foot one does not exactly qualify as ‘height’,” Dorian snickered.

“Please, can we just get to the Veridium mine?” Cassandra said as she finished strapping on her armor. “Varric, you may ride on the Inquisitor’s shoulders, but should you attempt to kiss me it will go badly, I assure you.”

And just like that, Varric found himself thinking about kissing Seeker Cassandra. A lot. When he wasn’t balls deep in some battle with demons or Red Templars, that is. Which, frankly, was often. But still, he found himself watching the Seeker across the camp fire that evening.

She was tending to her weapon, a Templar mace they’d liberated from the Hinterlands. Cassandra was very carefully scraping the dried blood from the crevices between the spikes.

“What is it, Varric?” She said finally, not looking up. “I do not appreciate being stared at.”

Shit, was it that obvious that he was staring? “Uh, just admiring the way you take care of your weapon, Seeker.” Varric bluffed.

She looked up at him. “Is that a joke?”

“Why do you automatically think everything that comes out of my mouth is a joke?” Varric said defensively.

Lavellan snorted. “Wait, _that_ was the joke, right?”

“I can’t admire a beautiful woman and her frighteningly brutal implement of destruction?” Varric smirked.

Dorian piped up. “Ooh, Seeker, maybe you should name your mace! Any long lost lovers you’d like to think about every time you bash a skull in? Varric swears by it.”

Lavellan laughed so hard she almost choked, and the conversation mercifully moved on.

Varric was more careful after that. He tried to put it from his mind, but he found himself stealing little glances at the Seeker during the trip back to Skyhold. She paid him almost no mind whatsoever, so watching her stern face was not difficult.

His scrutiny did not go without notice, however. On their first night back to the keep, Varric made his way to the Herald’s Rest. A friendly pint would clear his mind of this completely irrational, utterly minor infatuation.

“Cabot, got any more of that stout?” Varric asked. A moment later a mug of almost black beer slid across the bar. He sipped it gratefully and headed over to Bull and Dorian, sitting in the corner.

“My favorite dwarf,” Dorian said grandly. “Come to grace us with your sass? Or regale us with an outlandish tale of adventure? Or perhaps,” Dorian leaned in closely, “you need advice regarding romantic overtures towards a certain someone?” The mage winked outrageously.

“Sparkler, if I ever needed advice, which I most certainly do _not,_ I would not go to you.”

“Why on earth not?” Dorian said.

Bull snorted.

“Am I missing something? I’ll have you know I give fantastic advice.” Dorian held a hand over his heart. “Ask Vira.”

“Ask the woman caught between a Fade-obsessed elf and a cripplingly shy ex-Templar?” Varric raised his eyebrows.

“Well when you put it like that,” Dorian sniffed. He sipped his wine.

“The Seeker is quite a warrior,” Bull said.

Varric sighed. “I’ll do us all a favor and not ask how you knew who we were talking about,” he said, giving a hard look at Dorian. The mage raised his eyebrows innocently and refused to meet the dwarf’s eyes. “But it’s nothing. I just had a momentary realization that Seeker Cassandra is, in fact, an attractive woman. There’s no need for advice. I’m not interested in her.”

“Interested in who?” Vira said, plopping herself down next to the dwarf. “Your crossbow? I’m glad to hear that, actually. I was beginning to wonder how you keep it so well-oiled.”

Bull roared with laughter. The other three grabbed their glasses as the Qunari slapped the table, jarring it. “Boss, you’re the best. I love this job.”

“I do what I can, Bull.”

A few hours later, Varric made his way back to his quarters. He got as far as the Great Hall and decided to soak up a bit of warmth in front of the fire before heading to his room. Settling into one of the chairs, he stared pensively into the flames.

It would pass. Infatuations always did. Probably wouldn’t even take long. Seeker Cassandra had grudgingly come to accept his continued presence, but the whole thing where he lied to her about Hawke... shit. Her rage had been one thing. It was understandable, after all. But the look of betrayal on her face? That still stung. He’d _really_ fucked that up. Even more reason to let the whole thing go.

Varric had been adventuring a long time; he knew how stupid it was to get involved with a colleague. Though no one else in the Inquisition seemed to get it. The place was crawling with lovesick fools. Bull and Dorian, Vira and Solas... well for a minute anyway, before the elf made probably the biggest mistake of his life and set her free. These days Lavellan was waiting for Cullen to man up and make a move. And Sera spent an awful lot of time with Scout Harding. Hell, even Blackwall had been making puppy eyes at Josephine.  It was amazing anything at all got done in Skyhold.

Yeah. This would pass. It always did. Not like he hadn’t noticed other women before. Shit, look at Isabela. It had taken Varric weeks to get over that. Didn’t help that her assets were always at eye level. But he got over it, never said anything, never let on. The only one he’d never been able to get over was Bianca. And at this point, even she was more an idea, a voice in his head that narrated her letters, a hazy memory of lips and eyes.

The faint sound of bare feet sounded from behind him. “I believe it is a bit late for even for you to be awake, Master Tethras,” Solas said.

“I could say the same for you, Chuckles. Isn’t this prime Fade time for you?” Varric said, not turning.

Solas walked up to the fire, warming his hands. “Indeed it is, my friend. But it is also the night where the constellations of Fenrir and Silentir share the sky, a sight seen only once a decade. What keeps you from your bed?”

Varric snorted. “I’m not even sure at this point. Just... sorting a few things out, I guess. I suppose it’ll be fine. It always is.” He sighed.

Solas stared into the flames. “It is difficult to decide which path will lead to the least regret. Yet so often, that is the choice given us.”

“Are we talking about you or me, Chuckles?”

Solas actually cracked a hint of a smile, though there was little mirth in the expression. “You are very perceptive, Child of the Stone. I bid you good night.”

“Sweet dreams, Solas.”

The whole thing would’ve been easier to get over if the Inquisitor didn’t insist on throwing them together for field missions so often. After the Emerald Graves came a trip to Crestwood, to meet Hawke and Stroud. Varric wasn’t too pleased about Stroud’s news about the Calling. Still, it was a lead.

They were in the Inquisition camp later that evening. Stroud had already left for the Western Approach. Hawke would stay with the Inquisitor’s party as far as Caer Bronach, then make his way to the Western Approach as well. Varric was just finishing up a bit of crossbow maintenance when Dorian rose and stretched like a cat.

“I think I might head back to the cave. I saw quite a bit of Deep Mushroom to gather.” Dorian looked at Hawke pointedly.

“I think I’ll join you,” Hawke said blandly.

Varric and Cassandra watched the mages saunter away.

The Seeker raised an eyebrow. “I do not like this at all, Varric.”

“Me neither,” Varric said. “But there’s not much we can do about it.”

“Bull will not be pleased, I think. He appears to be quite fond of Dorian.” Cassandra said.

Varric shrugged. “Maybe they have an arrangement.”

“Pfft. An _arrangement._ If you do not give yourself to another fully, what is the point? Anything less is a momentary diversion.” Cassandra shook her head, still looking in the direction that Hawke and Dorian had walked. “It makes a mockery of romance.”

Varric blinked. The conversation was certainly taking a surprising turn.

Cassandra took his lack of response as a challenge. “What?” she frowned. “You cannot tell me you approve of this either.”

“Ah, no, I don’t. But not for the same reasons.” Varric sat back down on the log he had been using as a seat.

“And what reasons are those?” Cassandra seated herself by the fire. Varric tried not to think about how long her legs were, or how gracefully she folded them as she sat.

“Are you... messing with me, Seeker?” Varric frowned skeptically.

“I do not mess, Varric. I am curious to see what objections one as jaded as you would have.”

“Oh, so I’m jaded now, is that it?” Varric scoffed. “Thanks.”

“Do you deny it?”

Varric rolled his eyes. “If I do, are you gonna chase me around the smithy again?”

Cassandra gave one of her rare smiles. This did not help Varric at all. Her face seemed to light up for the briefest instant, causing a pang to shoot straight into Varric’s chest. Andraste’s ass, that's the last thing he needed.

“I don’t approve because... well, this isn’t my first rodeo. Getting involved with a colleague tends to end badly. It certainly does for Hawke, at any rate.” He added, under his breath. “I’m all for momentary diversions, but once feelings get involved?” Varric shook his head.

Cassandra stared into the flames. “I myself have indulged in such dalliances on occasion. They serve a purpose.”

Varric dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, trying not to think of “Cassandra” and “dalliance” at the same time.

“Does the thought disgust you so, dwarf?” Cassandra said, glaring at him.

“No. Quite the opposite, in fact,” Varric admitted, looking at her pointedly.

“Oh. I... I see.” Her face softened, and she quickly shifted her eyes back to the fire.

Lavellan wandered up, finally, having finished her meeting with the Requisition Officer. “So, keep your eye out for plaideweave, iron ore, embrium, and...” she flipped the chit of parchment over, “obsidian.” Vira looked at Varric and Cassandra, both making a point of not speaking or looking at each other. “You guys aren’t fighting again, are you?”

“No!” They protested in unison.

“Ooooo....kay,” Lavellan said, raising an eyebrow.

Thank the Maker, Hawke and Dorian returned, disheveled and sweaty, both swearing that they’d been fighting poison spiders. Varric just shook his head. Fighting spiders doesn’t usually require unbuckling and re-buckling of armor, and there were several on each mage that were askew or hanging loose.

The next day they traveled to Caer Bronach. Now that the bandits had been routed, the Inquisition had established a garrison in the fortress. Vira had a brief conversation with Leliana’s agent and announced that they’d be sticking around for a few days to track down a missing spy named Butcher. The dwarf chafed at the delay. Varric was eager to return to Skyhold - he owed his publisher the next chapter of Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder. Plus, it was a lot easier to get over someone when they weren’t constantly in your face, groaning at your jokes and kicking ass in battle and looking pretty fucking amazing in that armor and.... Varric shook the thoughts from his head.

He found Hawke saddling his horse in the courtyard. “You heading out soon?” Varric asked.

The mage nodded. “Just waiting on some supplies that the Inquisitor has helpfully offered. She’s quite something, isn’t she?”

Varric chuckled. “That she is, my friend. And aren’t you glad I hid you from Cassandra? She wanted you for the job, you know.”

Hawke snorted. “If you hadn’t made me out to be a hero in your book, we wouldn’t have had that problem, would we?”

“Whatever you say, _Champion.”_

“Regardless, you’re in good hands. Ooh, is there a pun there, you think? Because of the -” Hawke waved his hand, mirroring the gesture that Vira used to close rifts.

“Eh, not your best work.”

Lavellan walked up just then with a runner bearing a full saddlebag. “Hawke, it’s been a pleasure. Well, more so for you, I think.” She winked at him before holding out her hand.

Hawke grinned and shook her hand in farewell. “I like this one, Varric. I like this one a lot,” he said, looking at the dwarf.

“I do my best,” Vira smirked, before assembling her face into a more serious expression. “We’ve got a tough road ahead. I’ll meet you at the Western Approach as soon as I can. Dareth shiral, Hawke.” She bowed in the Dalish style as he mounted his horse.

“Until we meet again, Inquisitor,” he said formally, nodding his head. “Take care of Varric for me, will you?”

Vira watched him ride out of the gates. “I like him,” she said. “Too bad he couldn’t stick around. We could use another mage of his skill.”

Varric shook his head. “Probably for the best that he not come back to Skyhold, Inquisitor. Not sure continued proximity to Sparkler is a good thing. There’s gonna be some fallout there, mark my words.”

Vira shrugged. “Maybe it’ll work out. Bull is a Qunari. Not exactly known for jealousy, or so he told me.”

“I think our pretty mage might have some rather complicated feelings. He just doesn’t know it yet.” Varric said.

“True. Rather like you and the Seeker. When are you going to just get it over with already?”

“What are you talking about?” Varric scoffed.

Vira fixed him with a level gaze.

“Fine, fine. I admit that I - wait, did you say ‘get over it’, or ‘get it over with’? Because there is no ‘with’ to be getting over, I assure you.” Varric said.

Vira’s eyebrows raised as she continued to stare at the dwarf, folding her arms across her chest.

“What? Really? The Seeker?” Varric was shocked.

The Inquisitor rolled her eyes and stalked off, shaking her head, muttering something about Varric being hopeless.

He didn’t feel hopeless, just then. Rather the opposite, in fact. “Oh, shit,” he said, as a spark of hope wriggled around, getting comfortable somewhere about where his heart should be. “This is bad.”


	2. Blame Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric attempts to get some time alone. So much for that idea.

Somehow, the whole situation was worse. Whereas before, Varric knew the whole Cassandra thing was a one-sided infatuation, now he had exactly what he didn’t need: hope.

Maker’s balls. Varric could hardly concentrate for the rest of the day. By the time evening rolled around, he was so worked up that he purposely threw the game of Wicked Grace and retired to his bedroll early.

Caer Bronach hadn’t been fully garrisoned yet. The Inquisition party was given a private room rather than tents, which was a plus. The troops had rolled some barrels and crates to make four sleeping berths in the narrow, long room, draping the makeshift dividers with canvas. Not fancy, but there was privacy enough, and the walls kept the heat in, which was a vast improvement over the tents. Varric took the farthest bedroll from the door and made himself comfortable, taking off his shirt, grateful for the blessed warmth.

Damn. He hadn’t been this worked up in a long time. He tossed and turned for a half hour, before realizing that he should probably just take care of himself. He'd have enough warning to stop if someone came in. And there was no way he was getting to sleep otherwise. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were the Seeker’s eyes, her lips, those long, long legs... if this was what dreaming was like, he didn’t miss it. At all.

He loosened the laces on his breeches, pulling them down just far enough to get access to his half-hard cock. Memories of the Seeker scrambled to compete for his attention. There were certainly plenty to choose from. It started out with the sound of her vicious grunts as she tore into enemies. Maker, that alone was enough, just imagining those sounds in time to the arching of her hips. Then flashes of her face - those lips, parted as she gasped for breath after sparring, the line of her jaw tracing down that long neck. Oh, Maker, and those arms, strong enough to move Varric whatever way she pleased, and those legs. How long would it take him to lick from ankle to -

Just then, the door opened. Because of course it did. He heard someone walk into the room, saw the light of a single candle. He hurriedly stuffed himself back in his pants and shut his eyes, throwing his arms over his head as if he was asleep.

Varric could tell by the gait that it was Cassandra who had walked in. Because of course it was. Who else could it possibly be? Dorian and Lavellan were still up drinking and playing cards, no doubt swapping stories of how fantastic Bull was in bed compared to Hawke compared to (Varric shuddered) Solas.

The dwarf’s eyes were firmly shut, but he still sensed the candlelight hover over his bedroll for a long moment before moving on. Shit. He realized how he must look, the laces of his breeches untied, no shirt, and a poorly hidden erection. Great. Why was she even looking at him at all? He heard Cassandra creep into the bunk next to him. By Andraste’s sacred knickers, couldn’t she at least choose a farther place to sleep than three feet from him?

Still, within a moment or two, the candle was extinguished. Varric waited. By now he was achingly hard, his cock somehow under the idea that proximity to the Seeker was a good idea. The moments ticked by. He heard no sounds from the bedroll next to him. She must be asleep by now, right? Surely it takes its toll, he reasoned, a long day of hacking monsters to bits and frowning and disapproving of things and by the Maker what must her tits look like under that armor and I wonder if she smiles when she comes?

Biting back a frustrated groan, Varric once again freed himself from his breeches. It was not difficult, now; he was straining at the fabric. His fingers found the familiar rhythm. He sighed. The memories he’d been holding at bay leapt back to mind.

Where was he? Oh yes. The way she looked as she strapped on her armor, her breasts loose under her padded tunic, the way she bent down to strap on her greaves, folded at the waist just so, that glorious ass high in the air, a satisfied sigh as she tightens the buckles....

Varric froze; his eyes snapped open. He could have sworn he actually heard a satisfied sigh. There was a lot of ruckus going on just outside the window as Dorian and Vira continued their carousal with the Inquisition troops. But no - there it was again. A sigh, coming from just beside him.

Varric listened harder than he ever had in his life. The sound of fabric shifting slightly, another breath coming slightly too fast.

Holy shit. Right there, next to him, Cassandra was.... holy shit.

_Holy shit._

Varric was too stunned to do anything but listen for a long time. Once his ear had trained the sounds of Cassandra’s motions out from the general background noise, there was no mistaking it. After a few moments even the sound of her fingers was audible; Varric realized she must be very wet.

His fingers were stroking himself again, lightly, almost of their own accord. He was much more careful in his breathing. Shit, had she heard him, before? When had she started? Andraste’s ass, had she heard him and then started touching herself? The thought made his breath whoosh from his lungs involuntarily.

There was a sudden silence. Fuck. He froze again. She had heard him. Maker take it all. Good going, Varric.

He was still chastising himself when he realized the sounds had resumed; indeed, they were slightly louder than before. The breathing was heavier, the sound of fingers digging into eager flesh was quicker.

His own breath shuddered out of his mouth as he gripped himself. The whole thing was so impossible, so illicit, so unbelievably fucking hot. He found himself holding back, wanting to hear her come, wanting to know she was listening to him as he stroked himself.

Both of them grew bolder, their heavy breathing clearly audible throughout the chamber. Varric’s fantasies grew bolder as well. No longer content with memories, his imagination took over, manufacturing the taste of her mouth, her breasts, the salty brine between her legs. He imagined the way she smelled, the way they would smell together, the heady pollen scent leaping to his nose. And the way she would feel. Oh, that was sweetest of all, imagining the feeling of her tongue flickering against his lips, the feel of her fingers dragging down his back, the feeling of pushing into her, parting that flesh, no doubt all the tighter from her self-imposed chastity.

The sound of the quietest moan imaginable snapped Varric back to reality. It was barely more than a whimper, really, an exhale that had slightly too much breath behind it. Still, the sound of Cassandra making that noise almost was the end of him.

Varric hissed, grasping himself at the base of his cock, willing the impending orgasm to recede. He wasn’t ready; not yet. He knew this would never happen again. Somehow, the inevitability of it made the whole thing that much hotter.

Another moan came in response to his hiss. It took every ounce of willpower he had to not just get up and lunge himself at the woman writhing next to him.

By now the sounds coming from the bedroll next to him were obscene. The sound of skin on skin was almost too much - she must’ve been running a hand over her breasts, not to mention the telltale noise of the fingers she was clearly plunging into herself. Varric groaned in warning as his release threatened to overtake him.

The sound of Cassandra touching herself receded, though the breathing grew even heavier, more insistent. Shit, was she _waiting_ for him? The pretense that they weren’t listening to each other was now so thin as to be transparent. Still, he clung to it desperately, both wanting it to end but also go on forever.

Finally, Varric couldn’t take it anymore. He began to stroke himself very slowly, as if he was taking her, imagining that he was sinking his now screaming cock into her tight folds. His breath was loud, rhythmic, the hint of a groan tearing at the edges.

The Seeker seemed to understand. Her own breathing matched his, and the sounds of slick skin slowed to match his rhythm. When he realized she was following him, Varric moaned quietly, unable to help himself. Her answering whimper was raw, ragged: 

“Yes.”

Varric knew he heard it. Knew he heard her whisper. He answered with one of his own:

“Now.”

With that, Cassandra gave a strangled cry. Varric could sense her arching her back, bucking into her own hand.

He moaned then, full voice, feeling his release pulse through his fingers.

It did not take long for their breathing to return to normal. The sounds of the card game outside continued unabated; it seemed everyone was engaged in some sort of drinking contest.

Varric’s mind reeled. That was the hottest sex he’d had in what... fifteen years? Or maybe ever? And he was essentially by himself. If that wasn’t a metaphor for his failure as a lover, what was?

The next day, he waited for Lavellan to kick him repeatedly in the shins before waking up. Anything to avoid seeing Cassandra first thing.

“Get up, Varric. The Seeker’s out already, don’t worry.” Vira said.

Varric yawned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he bluffed.

“Right. Sure you don’t. Come on, let’s go find this missing spy.”

They found the spy later that morning. Well, his body anyway. At least it didn’t drag out for too long. Vira decided they could head out for Skyhold - there was still plenty of daylight left, more than enough to make it to the next Inquisition camp.

Varric rode his pony at the back of the group, trailing behind Dorian and Vira. Cassandra, meanwhile, rode a ways ahead, which was just fine with Varric. They hadn’t spoken directly to each other yet. The dwarf knew that avoidance was not a great option long-term, but he just couldn’t seem to bring himself to approach her.

He was so lost in thought that he failed to notice Vira riding back to meet him.

“You wanna talk about it?” She didn’t look at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he bluffed again. Easier to stick to the script.

Vira chuckled. “Not familiar with my race’s legendary hearing, then? I could hear you two clear as you like through the window. Sounded pretty hot, actually.”

Varric groaned, wiping a hand down his face. “Shit. It _was_ hot. It was fucking _amazing_. Dammit. Did anyone else hear, you think?”

Vira shook her head. “Just me. And don’t worry. I can keep a secret. And if it makes you feel better, we can swap stories about stupid choices. I’ve got a great one about a bald apostate with superiority complex. Because that went well,” Vira offered.

Laughing, Varric shook his head. “No thanks. That is not a picture of Solas I want to get in my head.”

“Suit yourself,” Vira sighed. “You’re going to have to talk to her eventually.”

“I know, I know.” Varric squinted up at the sky. “I should just get it over with, is that what you’re saying?”

Vira shrugged, in a smug kind of way.

“Fine. If she cuts me in half, give me a proper dwarven burial, okay?” Varric spurred his pony into a trot.

He rode up next to the Seeker. Her eyes flicked to him then turned back to the front. “Varric.” Her voice was just as cold and haughty as usual.

Varric winced. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this. I don’t know how you feel about... what happened. Shit, I don’t know how I feel about it. But the Inquisitor knows. She heard us. I just thought you should know.”

_“What?!?”_ Cassandra glared at him. “Tell me you’re joking, dwarf.”

He shrugged. “Those ears aren’t just for show, I guess.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “This is all your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” Varric said defensively.

“You started it,” Cassandra accused.

“Yeah, but _you’re_ the one that joined in,” he hissed. “Nobody had a dagger to your throat, you know.” This was not going well. Varric decided to just cut the fight short. “You know what? Fine. It _is_ my fault. The whole thing. It’s my fault for trying to enjoy some privacy. It’s my fault for being so lonely. It’s my fault for being attracted to you. Hell, let’s make it my fault that you’re so damn beautiful in the first place.” He started to wheel his pony around.

“Wait,” she called out after him.

Shit. There was a whole lot of apology in that one word. Varric turned his mount back to the path.

“I apologize,” the Seeker said, not looking at him. “I was caught unaware, embarrassed, and I lashed out. I should not have tried to blame you.”

“Embarrassed,” Varric muttered. “Of course you were.” This apology left him feeling worse than before.

“Let me finish, will you?” She snapped. “I am not embarrassed by _you,_ Varric. I am embarrassed that such an intimate experience was not private. I do not often indulge in such urges. To have it be fodder for rumor and speculation is... uncomfortable.”

“Well... okay then,” Varric said. They rode in silence for a few moments. “Thank you for saying you’re not embarrassed by me, Seeker.”

“Why would I be? You are very handsome.” She glanced over at him, a smirk on her face. “For a dwarf.”

“Oh, such high and mighty praise,” Varric laughed, falling easily back into their normal bickering patter. “What does it mean that your default position is to automatically blame me for things?”

“I believe that is called playing the odds, Varric.” Cassandra sniffed.

  
  
  



	3. Blame the Honeysuckle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra makes a confession at the empress' ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this particular head canon, everyone gets to go to the ball!

The uniform looked atrocious on Varric. Not that he was particularly vain, but the clothes fit him poorly. Collar too tight, coat too long, sash too wide. Well, he’d expected no less; Dorian designed the outfit. Of course the Tevinter looked like a god among men in the damn thing while mostly everyone else looked like crap. It figured.

It was time. They lined up to be introduced by the court herald. It seemed to take forever. He stood at attention, trying not to look bored as the other members of the inner circle were announced with stultifying slowness. Then he heard the herald’s voice tripping over Cassandra’s name and title. Did she _really_ have that many names? Was that _possible?_

She came to stand next to him. As she bowed deeply to the empress, he heard her mutter, “Not a word, dwarf.”

He grinned from ear to ear.

They hadn’t spoken much since Caer Bronach; there hadn’t been many opportunity as field missions dragged one or the other of them away from the keep. Plus, what was there to say? Long conversations weren’t usually the best way to get over an infatuation.

The evening dragged on. There was little for Varric to do aside from eavesdrop; Vira was traipsing around the palace with Cole, Sera, and Blackwall. Varric made his way to the vestibule.

He saw Cassandra leaning against a column, one leg kicked out casually. Andraste’s ass, how could she make standing around look so amazing? And of course on her the uniform looked absolutely stunning. Those boots? They did things for her legs that shouldn’t be allowed in decent society.

Before he could decide to stay or go, she glanced over at him. Staying was clearly the polite thing to do.

He sauntered up, hopping to sit on the stair railing. Even still, he was shorter than she by a head. “Seeker,” he drawled. “You look like you’d rather be doing literally anything else right now.”

“Ugggh,” she scoffed. “The Inquisitor did not need to bring us all. I hate this place.”

Varric flagged down a servant and grabbed two glasses of wine, handing one to the Seeker. “I thought we were highlighting the power and diversity of the Inquisition. Among the inner circle alone, look at how many names and titles we have. And half of them are yours.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, though she could not quite hide the flicker of a smile that played across her lips. “I thought I left all that behind when I became a Seeker.”

“We all have things we want to leave behind, I think. That seems to be the raison d’etre of our little family.” He raised his glass. “To new beginnings.”

Cassandra toasted him gravely and sipped her wine. She glared at the glass as if it personally offended her.

“Something wrong, Seeker?” Varric raised an eyebrow.

“This wine is... quite delicious,” she said, frowning. She downed the rest of the glass in one gulp.

Varric squinted at her in confusion. “So... you want to make it go away as quickly as possible, is that it?”

“I am not here to enjoy myself, Varric. And neither are you.” She grabbed his glass and drank that as well.

“Point taken. Well then. I’ll go see what’s going on in the ballroom.” Varric slid off the railing and began to walk away.

“Varric,” Cassandra called after him.

He turned. “Yes, Seeker?”

“Come find me later. If... there is opportunity.”

Varric tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Of course.”

Shit hit the fan a little later. Lavellan exposed Florianne as the traitor and somehow managed to reconcile Celene and her ex-lover, the elf Briala. Ah, the whole thing was just so juicy. Varric couldn’t wait to write about it.

There was quite a bit of celebrating going on after that. The ball became rowdy, at least by Orlesian standards. That is to say, it was still more prim and proper than a normal Tuesday at the Hanged Man in Kirkwall. The dances became intimate, instead of the formal, stuffy twirling favored by the court. And there was the sound of actual laughter rebounding from every corner, rather than the forced titters of polite conversation. The servants were having a hard time keeping drinks in people’s hands.

Varric managed to snatch a bottle and two glasses and set out to meet Cassandra. The problem lay in actually finding the damn woman. She’d left the vestibule, and the palace was enormous. Varric could spend hours looking for her. There was one option, though. He took a deep breath and made his way to Leliana.

“Sister Nightingale,” he said with his most charming smile.

She raised an eyebrow. “Varric,” she greeted him, a question in her eyes.

“Fine night, isn’t it? I thought things went rather well.” He looked around, nodding.

“Varric, just tell me what you want. You don’t have to make conversation.”

His shoulders sagged. “Fine. I’m looking for the Seeker,” he admitted.

Leliana glanced at the wine bottle and glasses, then smiled knowingly. “Try the balcony off the Hall of Heroes.”

He was going to have to pay for that information at some point, that was for sure. Still. Better than wandering aimlessly.

Cassandra was, indeed, on a secluded balcony. She was leaning over the railing, gazing out into the dim garden. The posture did all sorts of wonderful things to highlight her body. Varric tried not to stare. “Tried” being the operative word.

“Am I interrupting?” Varric asked, making his way to stand beside her. “I brought you more of the wine you seem to love and/or hate.”

She looked over at him, the light of the lamps below seeming to reflect in her eyes. “I lied before. I do not hate this place. It is very... romantic.” She took the glass he proffered.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard you talk about romance. I didn’t think that was quite your thing, Seeker.” Varric leaned his back on the railing so that he was facing her.

“And why not? Romance is not the sole province of women in frilly dresses.” She downed most of her drink.

“True,” he acknowledged.

“See? There,” she pointed with her chin.

Varric followed her line of sight. Across the garden, Cullen and the Inquisitor were dancing. They made a beautiful couple.

“And there,” Cassandra said again, gesturing into the garden itself, at the Iron Bull and Dorian, so fixated on each other that they seemed to shut out the world around them. “Incredible, is it not? That a Qunari and a Tevinter could find in each other such love amidst such chaos?” She swallowed the rest of her wine.

Varric had to admit, she had a point. And the garden was beautiful, the scent of honeysuckle heavy in the air. He quoted a line of poetry as he gazed over the moonlit landscape: “On aching branch do blossoms grow, the wind a hallowed breath. It carries the scent of honeysuckle, sweet as the lover’s kiss. It brings the promise of more tomorrows, of sighs and whispered bliss.”

There was a pause. “Carmenum di Amatus,” Cassandra sighed, relaxing further down on to the railing.  

Was it his imagination, or had she moved closer to him? “You know it, Seeker? I’m surprised. It was banned.” Varric noted.

Her exhaled breath was heavy with longing. Now, there was no question - she leaned close, although that was to hold out her empty wineglass for him to refill. “His lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer.”

“Which travels down my spine like flames that shatter night.” Varric continued the stanza, pouring wine into her goblet. “His eyes reflect the heaven’s stars, the Maker’s light.”

Cassandra took up the final words: “My body opens, filled and blessed, my spirit there. Not merely housed in flesh, but brought to life.” Her voice faltered at the end, a whisper with no sound.

Once again, the conversation was going in surprising directions. Varric sipped his wine to buy some time. The moment stretched, becoming uncomfortably long.

With a sigh, Varric drained his glass. “Well,” he said, “it’s been quite a night, Seeker.” When in doubt, go with something vague.

“Varric, I...” Cassandra frowned into her glass. She shoved the empty goblet at him angrily.

“Are you... tipsy, Seeker?” Varric said, not hiding his smile.

“I’m Nevarran, dwarf. It takes more than... this delicious wine to get me drunk.” The sentiment would have been more convincing without the slight hiccup. “I am merely trying to relax. I have something to say that is troubling me.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. With a sense of foreboding, he also filled his glass.

Cassandra cleared her throat. “I cannot stop thinking of Caer Bronach.” She looked down at the railing, rubbing at a seam in the marble with her thumb.

Filling his glass had been a good idea. Varric swigged half his wine down before responding. “Oh?” He didn’t trust himself to say more.

“Can you?” Cassandra demanded.

The last time he’d withheld the truth from the Seeker, he’d regretted it. Might as well be honest. “No,” he said simply, looking out over the garden.

“What do we do? It is unbearable, this... longing.” Cassandra shook her head, leaning down even further on the railing.

So much for the whole ‘getting over it’ idea. He gently took the wine glass from her hand, setting it down on the ground along with his own. Then he reached up and grasped the back of her neck, pulling her to him for a kiss.

By any standard, it was chaste. Varric was too respectful to do more than press his lips to hers and Cassandra was too surprised to kiss back. The intimacy came after, when their lips pulled away. They shared a shuddering breath, their foreheads pressed together, noses sliding against one another, Varric still gripping Cassandra’s neck.

The moment was perfectly poised; it could go either way. The anticipation was intense. And then Cassandra leaned in, eager to capture Varric’s mouth.

He let out a satisfied sound. Now her hands were in his hair, on his neck. The kiss was... well, it was everything they’d spoken of. Longing and romance and whispered bliss. After a moment, it threatened to become something much more dangerous. At least by Orlesian standards. Cassandra moaned as Varric nipped at her lower lip.

“Seeker, we need to go to a room. We can’t do this here,” the dwarf muttered into her ear. He sucked the earlobe between his lips. Might as well.

She gasped. “You’re... you’re right,” she said. “Where?” Cassandra dragged the corner of her mouth along his jawline.

“Shit, who cares? Anywhere with a lock. As long as you’re there,” Varric said.

“Ungh,” Cassandra groaned, not from disgust, but from the effort required to drag herself away from the embrace. “Let’s go.”

They took a second to straighten their clothing before heading back into the Hall of Heroes. Varric was suddenly extremely grateful for the too-long jacket, which hid his burgeoning erection quite neatly.

With exaggerated casualness they sidled through the crowd, heading for the guest wing, pretending not to be together. The fourth door they tried opened into a small bedroom, thank the Maker. Once the door closed, a wave of indecision hit them both. Cassandra sat on the edge of the bed.

“Does this feel wrong to you?” she asked.

Varric looked away. He took a deep breath before sitting next to her. “Seeker, I’ve never stopped regretting the time I wasn’t honest with you. So I’ll tell you the truth now. Yes. This feels wrong. Not because I don’t want you. By the Maker, I’ve been aching for you for months. If it feels wrong, it’s because you deserve more. You don’t deserve a hurried tumble in a dusty bedroom. You deserve all of those things you talked about - romance, candles, flowers, moonlight. So, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, maybe we shouldn’t do this. Maybe -”

Whatever else Varric was going to say, it was lost as Cassandra pushed him down and kissed him, hard. “You talk too much, Varric,” she said into his lips.

With the privacy of a closed door, the kiss quickly became torrid, all pleading moans and sliding tongues and nipping teeth. They strove to rip the confounded uniforms off each other without breaking the kiss. This was impossible, of course. The blasted Tevinter had designed the costume so that the top was a tangle of belts and sashes and buttons. They tore away from each other for long enough to strip down to their smallclothes.

Cassandra laid back on the bed, waiting for Varric to finish untangling himself from his uniform. When he turned to her, his breath caught in his throat. Her chemise and smallclothes were plain, but the fabric draped her body flawlessly. And the body itself... Varric fought back a groan. Her limbs were all awkward angles and coltishness; yet the need in her face was unmistakable. “By Andraste, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, unable to hide the reverence in his voice.

She looked like she was about to say something, but instead she kissed him again, running her hands across his chest and shoulders, her fingers delicate across his skin.

Varric lay next to her, propping himself up on an elbow. The kiss continued, now languid. His hands skipped across the hollow of her throat and down her breastbone and stomach, brushing the skin between her breasts. At her tiny gasp, he ran his hand back up, this time bringing his palm over the tip of her breast, touching her through the fabric.

The tiny gasp became louder. Varric repeated the gesture several times, each time increasing his touch, until finally he pinched her lightly with his fingers. She groaned. “Stop teasing me, Varric.”

He chuckled when he realized that she was right; he was treating her like some vestal virgin. “You don’t like it?” he asked, grinning. “You seem to be enjoying it a great deal.” He pinched her again.

She groaned, the sound a perfect blend of her characteristic disgust and the lust coursing through her. He leaned down and sucked her nipple through the fabric; her fingernails dragged across his back in time to her gasps.

“Varric, if you make me tear my chemise off myself, you will live to regret it, I swear.” Her voice was thick with need.

“Well excuse me for trying to enjoy the moment, Seeker.” He reached down to the hem of her top, sliding it over her torso. When it caught on the underside of her breasts, he groaned in anticipation.

She finished pulling the top off herself, Varric already kissing and suckling at her flesh. The sounds she was making were somehow both sacred and obscene. Cassandra pulled his fingers into her mouth. He matched the rhythm of her tongue sliding along his fingers as he licked her breasts.

Cassandra reached down and stroked his straining cock through the fabric. Varric groaned and nipped at her with his teeth. She tugged at the waistband, looking for the drawstring. “Why are you still wearing so many clothes, Varric?” she complained.

He leaned back, laughing, and undid the knot. Almost before the string was loosened, she yanked the fabric down over his hips eagerly, then removed her own. She reached back to him, trying to pull him down on top of her.

“You in a hurry, Seeker?” Varric joked. “Got somewhere else to be tonight?”

She groaned. “Why are you dragging this out? Get on with it, please,” she said, writhing.

A flash of doubt wracked through Varric. Maybe Cassandra wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. He realized that he was harboring some vague hope that this was the start of something. The idea that Cassandra could see it instead as the end, something to be over and done with quickly, sent a knot of disappointment to the pit of his stomach.

“What? What is it?” Cassandra demanded, leaning up on her elbows.

Varric hoped his smile didn’t look as sad as it felt. “You’re so beautiful.” He traced a fingertip from the hollow of her neck all the way down to the tangle of hair between her legs.

Cassandra frowned at his words even as she shuddered under his touch. He brought his fingers up the inside of her thighs. She moaned, spreading her legs.

“So beautiful,” he said again.

Cassandra flopped down on the bed, covering her face with her arm. “Please, Varric,” she begged.

Was she... embarrassed? “What, you don’t like hearing that you’re beautiful?”

“Just.... No. Yes,” she groaned. “I don’t know.”

He moved to kneel between her legs. “I thought you were a Seeker of Truth.” Varric reached up to run his thumb along her cheek. “I’ve never said anything more true in my life. You’re gorgeous, Seeker.” He kissed her.

She gasped and shuddered under him. He reached between her legs then, dragging one finger to part her as gently as he could manage. At the same time, his lips found her ear, and he whispered. “The way you feel, the way you look...” Varric nuzzled into her hair. “Maker, even the way you smell.”

Cassandra’s hips began to make small motions against his fingers. “Varric, please,” she whispered.

He dipped his finger into her then, dragging his teeth over her earlobe. The noise she made, somewhere between a whimper and a growl, went straight to his cock. She reached for it, trying to gain purchase though the angle was bad.

“Oh no, Seeker. I told you I wouldn’t lie. I don’t want this to be over too soon. We may never get this chance again.” It felt like a confession. It was a confession, of a sort.

“Varric. If we are to do this,” she groaned, bucking against his fingers. “If we are to do this, call me by my name. Please,” she gasped, wrenching her eyes open to look at him.

“Cassandra,” he said into her ear. “I can do that.”

Something in her seemed to melt a bit. He watched her face as his fingers continued exploring her body, now circling the knot of flesh, swollen with anticipation. It was breathtaking.

Varric’s erection was painful by this point. Even the scant motion of her hips against him was getting to be too much. But he had to taste her, he just had to.

The memory of what his imagination had conjured in Caer Bronach was quickly shattered by reality: the way she tasted, her smell, the way she writhed under his tongue. Varric’s mouth indeed spoke words unvoiced, a prayer. Her answering moans were an unsung Canticle; her hands on his head a benediction. And then she came, bucking and arching her back and sobbing and Maker, if she was beautiful before, perhaps Varric needed to invent a new word to describe her now.

She was pulling his shoulders up, yanking him, still trembling with aftershocks. “Please Varric. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

His insecurity melted away. She wasn’t in a hurry to get it over with, she just wanted it that badly. Maybe it was the end, maybe the beginning. Maybe both, or neither, maybe it was just a moment between two people. Whatever it was, Varric wanted to make it perfect.

Varric leaned back and guided himself in, carefully, fighting the urge to just bury himself in her. She let out a warbling moan, arching her back, trying to get him to go faster, then hissing at the discomfort.

Shit, she was tight; she enveloped him with slick heat. “Shhh,” Varric said, laying a hand on her hips. “Patience.”

“I don’t - ah!” she gasped. “I don’t want to be patient.”

Now it was Varric’s turn to hiss; Cassandra was still having aftershocks from her orgasm. He felt the spasm and froze, trying to retain some shred of control. She seemed intent on shattering that control, bucking against him.

“Cassandra, I don’t want to hurt you,” Varric whispered, pulling back slightly.

The Seeker groaned. “You can’t hurt me, Varric. Please.” She looked at him, panting slightly.

He drew almost all the way out of her, watching her face.

“Please,” she said again, gentler this time.

Without breaking eye contact, he slammed into her, just once, as hard as he could. She gasped an inhale, squeaking a bit, her mouth open. “Yes. Yes. Again.”

Varric did as she asked, pulling almost entirely out, then pounding into her, her breasts jolting in time to his thrust.

“More,” she warbled.

He thrust again, plunging into her. He grimaced with effort, trying to make it last. “Cassandra,” he said, his voice somewhere between a whisper and a growl. “Can you come again?”

She nodded, tiny gasps bubbling from her lips. “Oh, yes. Yes.” Her hips were making motions of their own accord.

Varric lifted her legs to rest over his shoulders, bent at the knee so her calves rested against his back. “I want to feel you. I promise to give you what you need. Will you touch yourself, please?”

With trembling fingers, she reached down and began to rub small circles into herself. Varric’s eyes fluttered closed to feel her motions against him, to feel her body respond around him. _Her body opens, filled and blessed._

When he opened his eyes, he knew she was close. Her eyes were lidded; she bit her lip, the grimace of effort somehow making her even more beautiful. Varric began to thrust into her, just a bit, not hard, but steady, sure.

“Varric?” she whimpered.

Varric couldn’t hold back any longer. “Now,” he groaned, slamming into her over and over, gritting his teeth as their skin crackled in the tiny room. He only had seconds left.

And then he felt her come, saw it in her eyes as he felt it in her body, the spasms gripping him as her gaze held his, unbroken, a sobbing plea on her lips. His own body shuddered, erupting into her, even as he cried out her name. _Cassandra._

 


	4. Blame it on Bianca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra reveals some unpleasant truths after their encounter. Varric manages to get a handle on things, at least until Bianca Davri shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst! Do you like it? Have some! Have a bunch!

Varric knew something was wrong when Cassandra didn’t smile, or stretch, or sigh with contentment. Usually not a good thing when the person you just slept with rolls away, curled into a silent ball.

“Cassandra, I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Why are you apologizing, Varric?” 

“Something is obviously wrong, and I’m guessing it’s my fault. It usually is.” He sighed with resignation.

“It is not your fault,” Cassandra said. With a huff of frustration, she turned back to him. “This was... very intimate.”

Varric choked out a laugh, staring up at the ceiling. “That’s generally the idea.”

She smacked him on the shoulder. “You know what I mean. You...  do  know what I mean, don’t you?” Her annoyance crystallized into insecurity.

Varric exhaled slowly before he replied. “Yes, I know what you mean.” And he did. This was not two people getting something out of their system. It had been much, much more than that. He looked over at Cassandra.

Her face was stricken. “I had not expected it to be so.”

“Me neither,” he admitted.

She looked guilty. “There are... complications you may not be aware of.”

“I’d say this is pretty complicated already.”

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut. “I am a candidate for the Divine,” she blurted.

Varric had often written about his characters feeling as if the ground suddenly dropped out from beneath them. This was the first time he experienced it for himself, however. He made a mental reminder to not rely on the cliche as much in the future. The sensation of freefall was much worse than he thought.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then another. And then one more, because why not? When he opened his eyes again, Cassandra was watching him, waiting for a reaction.

Rolling onto his side, he ran a finger over the scar on her cheek. A thousand thoughts crowded his throat. “You,” he said, pausing for another breath, “will make an excellent Divine, Cassandra.” 

Shit. There were tears in her eyes. Way to go, Varric. 

“I should have told you before.”

Varric sighed. “Ah, irony,” he said. “It almost makes up for the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.”

“Really?”

“No,” he said. “But I’m not sure it would have changed anything. At least not on my end,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t trade this.” He brushed the curve of her neck with the back of his hand.

“We should... get back to the ball,” Cassandra said, leaning a bit closer.

“Definitely,” Varric agreed. “They’ll notice we’re gone.” Somehow he was leaning into her as well. And somehow they were kissing again. 

They did not make it back to the ball.

***

Varric knew it was coming. It was just a matter of when. It took quite a while, actually. They’d been back at Skyhold for a few days when the hammer finally came ringing down.

It was at a Wicked Grace game in the dining hall. Because of course it was. Varric was flicking the cards across the table when Dorian spoke. “So, how was it, Varric?”

_ Step one: _ feign ignorance. “How was what, Sparkler?”

Bull snorted, while Lavellan clicked her tongue.

Dorian sighed languidly.  _ “Fine,” _ he said, fanning the cards in his hand. “Make me come right out and  _ say  _ it, will you? How was your night with the Seeker? We’ve all been  _ dying  _ to know.”

_ Step two: _ denial. Make ‘em work for it. Varric examined his cards. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your bet, Tiny.”

When there was no reply, he looked up. Three sets of eyes were trained on him, with varying levels of pity at his pathetic attempt to deny what happened.

_ Step three: _ offer as little detail as possible. “Fine,” he sighed. “You want to know how it was? It was....” Dammit.  _ It was perfect. It broke my heart. I’ll never be the same. The second time was better than the first. I want to wake up in her arms every morning. _ He clenched his jaw. “...intimate.” He spat the word out. 

The Inquisitor was looking at him in horror. “Oh no,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Varric.”

“Am I... missing something?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I thought a certain level of intimacy was rather the point? Or have I been doing it wrong all these years?”

Varric looked down at his hand, not speaking.

“Cassandra is a candidate for the Divine,” the Inquisitor said quietly.

“Oh, fuck,” Bull grunted. “Damn.” 

“Well, she’s not going to be named Divine tomorrow, is she? Are you disqualified for sleeping with dwarves? What’s the issue? It’s not like you have  _ feelings  _ for her,” Dorian said. 

Everyone but the mage suddenly seemed very engrossed in their cards. Dorian looked aghast, then slapped Bull on the arm, hard. “You twit! Why didn’t you tell me?” He slapped him again, sending a tiny storm of sparks out from his palm.

“Ow! I thought you knew!” Bull said defensively.

“Not everyone is Ben-Hassrath, you great oaf.” Dorian fumed. He slammed down his cards. “This is ridiculous. Varric, come on. We’re going to the tavern. I need to buy you several drinks, apparently.”

“Sounds good to me,” the Inquisitor said, tossing her cards in.

“Me too,” Bull said.

They looked at Varric expectantly. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll take it as payment for the hand I was about to win.”

***

Weeks passed. It wasn’t all bad. Varric got called up to go to the Western Approach, and then Cassandra left for Emprise du Lion. They didn’t see each other much, which helped. And it’s not like either of them had actually  _ admitted  _ anything to the other. 

Varric was also very careful not to admit anything to himself, either. Sure, Cassandra was incredibly strong, and brave, and forthright, not to mention sexy as hell. It wasn’t an issue to admire those traits. Trouble started when he’d been forced to acknowledge that there was a range of emotion that existed in him, something past mere admiration. He was already in the danger zone. Putting a name to his feelings would just be stupid.

In the few times they did speak, Varric and Cassandra fell easily back into the bickering pattern they’d had since... well, forever. This also made things easier. If their glances were a little too long, and maybe the Seeker didn’t issue quite as many groans of disapproval, well, that's a small price to pay for almost-normal.

No, the real problem started the day Varric walked into the Great Hall and saw Bianca Davri.

He thought it was a trick of the light at first. Maybe it was scout Harding, wearing a hood? Maybe it was another dwarf, a new recruit, a friend of Gatsi’s? Please, Maker, anyone but _her?_ But then she turned and looked at him, with that sarcastic smile she always had. Andraste’s tits. 

“What in Maferath’s hairy balls are you doing here?” He hissed, yanking her over to the fire. 

“Nice to see you too,” she said, in that sultry drawl she always used. The voice that, once upon a time, had sent Varric out of his mind with lust.

“This cannot be happening,” he said to himself, wiping his face with both hands. “Bianca, why are you here?”

Bianca was frowning in confusion now. “What’s the matter, Varric? Aren’t you happy to see me? It’s been a long time. I thought you’d be pleased. You’ve always been happy to see me before,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm.

He jerked back from her automatically. “I’m sorry,” he said, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself. “You just... surprised me, is all. It’s been fifteen years. You couldn’t write to let me know you were coming?” 

She shook her head. “What I have to say is too risky to be put to paper. I know which Deep Roads entrance Corypheus has been using.” There was an intensity in her eyes that gave Varric pause.

He sighed. “I appreciate the warning, but you shouldn’t have come yourself. What if the Guild found out, or... whats-his-name?” 

The Inquisitor showed up then, and of course she wanted to investigate. Lavellan  _ always _ wanted to investigate. Mercifully, Bianca offered to wait for them in the Hinterlands, rather than hanging out in Skyhold. Normally, he would’ve given his right foot for a few days with Bianca. Now? Shit, he didn’t know. 

He took a long walk on the battlements, circling above the keep. He finally came to lean on the outer wall, looking over the mountains. 

There were footsteps behind him. “Want to talk about it?” It was Bull. 

“Do I need to? You already know, Tiny.” Varric said. 

“I do,” Bull agreed, his voice pleasant. “I thought I’d offer, though.”

They stood in companionable silence for a few moments. “Hey, I got a question for you,” Varric said. “When did... when did you realize... about Dorian?” He didn’t quite know how to put it.

Bull answered without hesitation. “That Dorian was my Kadan? I knew the potential was there right away, when we sparred. All that power....” He grunted. “But it didn’t happen till after he got back from Crestwood. I wanted to take care of him, keep him from hurting. I wanted to give him what he needed.” 

“It took him sleeping with Hawke, you mean?” Varric laughed.

Bull chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. What about you? When did you know for Bianca?”

Varric blew air through his lips. “Andraste’s ass, it was so long ago. I’ve done some pretty awful things in my life, you know? And Bianca made me feel... she made me feel like I was a better person than I was. It felt good.”

Bull nodded. “The Seeker doesn’t make you feel that way.” 

Varric shook his head. “No. Cassandra....” He thought for a second, and then laughed. “She makes me actually want to  be  a better person. Shit.” He rubbed his forehead.

Bull didn’t say anything, just looked over the mountains. Finally, he spoke. “Let’s go shakedown Blackwall. I’m sure he’ll donate some Grey Whiskey to the cause of hopeless romance. Cullen can’t have drank it all.”

“I like the way you think, Tiny.”

Varric’s hangover the next day was so bad, it actually distracted him from his emotional state. Gave him an excuse to languish in the baths for a bit as well. Dorian was in almost as bad of a way. The mage heated the water so they could sweat out the dregs of whatever was in the bottle labeled Vintage Warden Carver Hawke. Varric should’ve known better. 

Delicate footsteps approached. They sounded like thunder. “Feeling better?” Vira’s voice said from behind him.

“No,” Varric groaned. “Are you always so loud? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, you’re about to feel worse, I’m afraid.” Vira knelt by the basin. 

“What? Why?”

“I just came from the War Room. We leave tomorrow to meet Bianca.” Vira said, her face carefully neutral. “The team’s all set.”

“Good. Fine. Sparkler’s coming, right?” Varric squinted over at Dorian, who was languidly soaking in the tub next to him, cucumber slices over his eyes.

“Of course,” Vira said.

Dorian gave a thumbs up without speaking.

“And Bull?” Varric said. Dorian and Bull almost always went on field missions together.

“He’s needed with the Chargers. Their next raid’s a bit much for Krem to coordinate.”

A knot of panic twisted in Varric’s stomach. “Blackwall?”

“Still recovering from his injury in the Western Approach, I’m afraid,” Vira said.

“Cullen?” Varric squeaked. “Please tell me Cullen is coming.” His voice was a whisper.

Vira shook her head. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. I need a warrior. We can’t handle the Carta thugs without one, you know that.”

Varric sank all the way under the water. 

“You can’t drown yourself to get out of it,” he heard Vira call from above him, her voice warbling through the liquid. 

He bobbed back up, purposefully splashing her. “How is it that we have an entire keep full of warriors, and you only ever bring three with you? Didn’t you just recruit Celene’s old champion? Michel something-or-other?”

Vira shrugged. “Listen. I have to go on field missions with Solas all the time. You’ll just have to deal with it.” She patted him on the shoulder and walked out, her feet squelching on the floor. 

“This is going to be awful.” Varric sighed.

“Dreadful,” Dorian agreed. “I hate caves. Takes ages for me to get the smell of damp out of my robes.”

When they rode up to the entrance to the cave a few days later, Bianca was waiting for them just inside the entrance. The Inquisitor introduced Dorian and Cassandra.

“Your name is Bianca?” the Seeker said, blinking in surprise. A frown settled into her eyebrows with glacial slowness.

“Half the girls in the Merchant’s Guild are named Bianca. The other half are named ‘Helga’. I lucked out.” the dwarf joked. 

Cassandra’s frown deepened. She looked at Varric.

“A word, Inquisitor?” Varric pulled Lavellan away. When they got out of earshot, he hissed at her. “You didn’t tell her it was Bianca we were meeting?”

“I thought you would!” Vira muttered. 

Varric looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “We don’t exactly _ talk , _ Inquisitor,” he said. 

“Well how was I supposed to know that? I thought you were -” Vira stopped herself as her voice rose. “I thought you were  _ close,” _ she whispered.

“With her being the next Divine? What in Maker’s Balls would be the point in that?” Varric spat out at her in a heated whisper. 

In unison, they both looked over at the others. They were all staring. 

Varric and Vira gave unconvincing grins and walked back over. “Just... discussing tactics,” Varric lied.

“Sometimes we both go into shadow at the same time and knock into each other,” Vira said. “Embarrassing.” She laughed weakly.   


“Right.” Bianca raised an eyebrow. 

The mission went fine, as far as killing Carta thugs and Red Templars went. More than fine, actually. He hadn’t fought alongside Cassandra in a long time. He’d missed it. They’d spent so much time in the field back in Haven that they had developed a kind of dual fighting style, his bolts knocking enemies off balance so that she could bash them with her mace. She even anticipated his trick shots, moving around his leaping body as if they were dancing.

As they finished off the third clot of enemies, Varric actually found himself laughing a bit when Cassandra gave one of her characteristic battle cries, a kind of growling shout that seemed to scare the piss out of the Carta mercs. And then she started laughing a bit too, and the final mercenary just looked so confused, and that made them laugh even harder. Varric actually felt bad for the thug. The last thing he saw was a glowing mace being wielded by a giggling amazon. 

Cassandra had dropped to one knee to deliver the blow, which sent the thug’s body flying across the room. She stayed there, laughing weakly as she caught her breath. Varric was still chuckling too. He put his hand on her shoulder.

She reached up and patted his hand. “It’s not... it’s not funny,” she said, laughing.

“Then why are you giggling? You sound like a schoolgirl.” Varric laughed.

Cassandra snorted, sending them into a fresh round of laughter.

Dorian came over. “Varric, did you break our Seeker? I’ve never seen her laugh so hard. Vira, you must come look at this. It’s fascinating.” The mage poked at Cassandra with one finger, pretending to examine her. “We must record this for posterity. I wish Dagna was here. She could take a sample.”

Amazingly, the Seeker did not bat Dorian’s hand away, but instead took a few deep breaths, smiling. “I will be sure to give her a lock of hair when we return.” 

“She just made a joke!” Dorian crowed. “Sweet merciful Maker. Are you ill? Varric, what did you  _ do _ to her?”

Varric snorted, turning away. “Oh, you know me -” he started to say. He caught Bianca’s gaze. Her eyes were narrowed, as if seeing him for the first time. All the laughter in him withered under her scrutiny. He realized that Cassandra was still holding his hand. Well, shit.

Lavellan cleared her throat. “We should get moving,” she said pointedly.

They fought on, hacking their way through the cave. But then, Andraste’s tits,  _ Bianca  _ turned out to be the leak. She spouted some story about making an honest mistake and wanting to set things right. 

Varric argued with her. Truth be told, he was embarrassed. Everyone knew what Bianca meant to him, and here she was, casually lying: _oh, by the way, I gave the red lyrium to Corypheus, but here let me lock this door and pretend I’m making up for it._

That's when Varric knew it was over. Decades of time he’d spent pining for this woman, or at least thinking he did, and it was just... gone. He sighed. “Bianca, you’d better get home before... someone... misses you.”

“Varric.” She took a step after him.

“Don’t worry about it.” Varric said, walking away. 

Bianca caught up with him at the entrance to the cave. “What the hell, Varric? Were you ever going to tell me? Were you even going to say goodbye?”

“Tell you what?” Varric snapped. 

She stood in the entrance, blocking him. “That you’re in love with her,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. 

He sighed and looked away. “It’s not like that,” he said. 

_ “Bullshit.” _

Varric took a deep breath. “Okay, yes, I admit I have feelings for her. But nothing’s gonna come of it. Nothing  _ can _ come of it. It’s just one of those hopeless....” He shook his head, not meeting her eyes. “Anyway. What difference does it make to you? You’ve got what’s-his-face to go home to.” He tried to move around her, but she stepped in his way.

“Varric,” she said. There was an urgency in the sound that made him look up. He’d never really seen sadness on her face before. It looked out of place on her. She’d always been too cantankerous, too bitter, too sarcastic for sadness, even when everything fell apart around them all those years ago. Of course, back then, she’d known that he’d always be there for her, even if they were half a continent apart. It was all a fiction, of course, a grand romantic story they told themselves, and each other. 

“Shit,” he swore. “I’m sorry, Bianca. I... I don’t even know what else to say,” he shrugged helplessly. 

“Yeah, well,” Bianca looked at the floor, then she shook her head. She reached out and held him by the shoulders. “Let’s at least make it a proper goodbye, huh?” 

Varric huffed a mirthless laugh. “You think it’ll ever truly be over between us? I’m not taking those odds.”

Bianca gave a half-smile. “You’re just saying that in case your crossbow ever breaks.”

“Maybe,” he grinned. “I’ll see you around, Bianca.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, just on the corner of his mouth. “See you around, Varric,” she said, her eyes a bit damp, but with a devilish spark nonetheless. “Now get the hell out of here.”

Varric walked out. He kept walking, all the way out of the cave and into the sunlight. He finally stopped walking when he reached the end of a small dock jutting out into Lake Luthias. He realized it wasn’t far from where they had picked up Blackwall. Good place to be alone. 

Steps sounded behind him. Because of course they did. “What is it?” he grumbled, expecting Lavellan or Dorian to offer him some homegrown comfort that would, no doubt, make him feel better. He didn’t want to feel better. He wanted to wallow. 

“Are you still... in love with her?” The Seeker’s voice was stilted, unsure. 

Varric sighed, his shoulders slumping. “No. Truth be told, I probably haven’t been in a long, long time. She’s just a story I told myself. A story that kept me from getting too close to anyone. But I can’t even pretend that, any more.”

She sat next to him, her feet kicking over the edge of the dock. “I... I miss this. I miss fighting with you at my side. I miss... I miss you.” 

“I do too, Cassandra.” Varric said.

“You called me by my name,” she noted.

“Only one of them,” he said. “Would you like me to recite the other 694? I can get Dorian to light some veilfire torches for us. It might take a while.” 

She punched him on the arm. It felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're in need of some fluffy fluff to counteract the angst, you can read about Cullen's experience with Grey Whiskey in [this chapter.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3702131/chapters/8457730) It stands on its own. And it might be worth a giggle.


	5. Blame it on Elandrin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Dorian go back to the Emerald Graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um..... so...... more angst? Yes? Served with a tiny bit of smut? Oh my god I am terrible, I apologize in advance. 
> 
> Elandrin's letter is from the DA:I codex.

The persistent sense of deja vu was, frankly, starting to piss Varric off a little bit. Once again, he was traipsing through the Emerald Graves, trying desperately to keep his eyes from roaming to gaze at the Seeker at every possible opportunity.

They were traveling to the tomb of the Emerald Knights, a ruin called Din’an Hanin, along with Vira and Solas. The whole thing was part of some grand collaboration between the Inquisition and the Dalish. Vira had agreed to provide support for the exploration of the ruin. But then something had gone wrong. Contact with the archeologists had been severed, and messages from Inquisition agents had dried up as well.

The cause was obvious as soon as they approached the area. Dalish bodies lay strewn about, bloated and rotting, interspersed with the corpses of Inquisition troops. Whatever had happened, it’d been a slaughter on a grand scale.

Vira was clearly distraught. She was no stranger to carnage, Varric knew full well; half the time she caused it personally. Still, this wasn’t the scene of a battle. It was a massacre.

The source of the damage was apparent soon enough, as the party found themselves hacking through red templar behemoths. The place was crawling with them, literally. It didn’t seem to matter how many of the twisted, distorted husks he shot down, the nauseating pity Varric felt for the creatures never waned. They’d been men once. How close had Bartrand come to becoming one himself?

Finally, they made it to the central chamber of the ruin. Solas and Vira approached the shrine. Varric and Cassandra hung back a bit to give the elves some space. Seemed the respectful thing to do.

They watched from the side as Vira retrieved a scroll. She unrolled it and shook her head, offering it to Solas. “I can’t read it - some form of ancient elvish, I think,” she said.

“Allow me, Inquisitor,” Solas said. He began to translate the scroll, telling the story of Elandrin and Adalene, the elf and the human who fell in love, their secret romance causing a cascade of violence which culminated in the bloodbath of Red Crossing.

You didn’t need to be the Iron Bull to tell that Vira was having trouble holding it together. She was looking up at the ceiling, as if she was merely listening. It would’ve been good cover, had she not also been blinking rapidly and breathing slowly through her mouth. Still, Solas continued to read. Finally, he paused, wincing. His voice broke slightly as he read the final words of the scroll, Elandrin’s last letter to Adalene:

_What care have I for gods I have never seen, for a Maker I do not know? Let others distract themselves with such lofty concerns. I know only this life, I have seen only this world, and I care only for you._

_Perhaps your priestess distrusts the sincerity of "uncivilized" elves. If she must hear me say I will follow the Maker, so be it. Your god intercedes as much as ours. My life will not change._

_I will return in two weeks' time. My heart longs for you 'till then, and will remain with you forever after._

Vira crumpled a bit, a strangled whimper leaving her throat as she fought to contain a sob. Solas caught her, wrapping his arms around her. He murmured to her in elvish.

Seeing Vira so upset was bad enough. Witnessing the pain on Solas’ face as he held her was a thousand times worse.

Varric heard Cassandra inhale sharply, almost a gasp. She turned away from the elves, bringing a hand up to her mouth. She shook her head and stumbled towards the doors.

The dwarf followed her slowly, giving her some time. Whatever was happening with Solas and Vira, it felt too intimate to watch. He found Cassandra sitting on a pile of rubble outside the entrance to the tomb. Her eyes were wet. She wiped her face quickly and straightened her posture as he approached.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am fine, Varric,” she said, attempting to summon her characteristic cold, haughty tone. It wasn’t quite enough to hide the pain; the waver in her voice was a glimpse of skin under a mask which had slipped.

“I’ll be the first to admit Chuckles can be trying to deal with, but... shit. How can he stand to be around Vira, knowing she’s with Cullen now? If I loved someone that much I’d never just cut her loose like he did.” Varric looked through the doors to the tomb. Vira broke away from Solas’ embrace, shaking her head. Even with a few hundred feet of distance, Varric could see the way Solas’ shoulders slumped.

Varric turned back to Cassandra. She was staring at the ground, her brow furrowed slightly. With a sense of dread, Varric realized he’d said exactly the wrong thing. Maker’s balls. _If I loved someone that much..._ implying that he didn’t. Shit, did he? Damn it. _Say something, you idiot._

“That’s assuming,” he said hastily as Cassandra opened her mouth to respond. “That’s assuming I was lucky enough to ever be in the position to cut someone loose in the first place.”

The frown relaxed slightly. “I do not wish to indulge in speculation concerning my comrades and their romantic lives,” Cassandra said. “However, I too question Solas’ motives. For him to be in that much pain, even after so long?” She shook her head, staring at her feet. “Such... feelings... are rare, indeed.”

Varric tentatively reached out and put a hand on Cassandra’s neck. She didn’t pull away. He ran his thumb up and down, feeling the contrast between the grit and sweat from their battle and the silk of her skin. Leaning into his hand ever so slightly, she looked up, mouth open as if to speak.

The moment was shattered by the sound of footsteps behind them. Because of course it was. Cassandra closed her mouth and looked away as Varric dropped his hand. Solas approached, his face once again a blank facade. “Vir’athawen has asked me to perform a Dalish funeral rite for the undead. Perhaps it will bring solace to the fallen. It will take quite some time, however. If you wish to return to the camp, we will join you later.”

Varric knew when he was being dismissed. “You need anything, Solas?”

The elf shook his head. “No, though I appreciate your concern, Master Tethras.” With a short bow to each of them, he withdrew into the tomb, closing the doors behind him.

If they’d been characters in one of Varric’s books, they would’ve been brought together by the romantic sorrow they experienced in the tomb, needing the balm of each other’s touch. Their walk back to the camp would’ve been waylaid by their passion. He’d have spun pages of love-lorn smut about them fumbling to get their armor off before doing it against a tree or something.

The reality was a that had been a pretty fucking depressing day, and they were both worn out. They didn’t speak much. Amazingly, it wasn’t awkward, the silence. In a way, it was kind of comforting, not having to pretend that they day didn’t suck (because it did), or that things were fine (because they weren’t). It was an honest quiet.

The walk to the camp seemed quicker than Varric expected, familiarity with the path making the march seem shorter. It was early afternoon. After grabbing a bite to eat, Varric found he was restless. Usually he’d bask in the precious few hours of downtime, a rarity in the field. Now, though, he needed a distraction.

The requisition officer, as always, was happy to provide one. Varric shouldered Bianca and set out in search of rashvine. As he wandered the forest, his thoughts returned to his conversation with Cassandra. It was becoming harder and harder to pretend that he didn’t have feelings for her. Not that it was much of a pretense. And he wasn’t even sure who, exactly, he was supposed to be fooling. All his friends knew how he felt. Shit, half of Skyhold probably knew by this point. Sparkler was terrible with secrets, after all.

Still. The Seeker had made it clear that, with her impending nomination as candidate for Divine, she wasn’t interested in pursuing things, no matter how either of them felt. And he had to respect that. He had to. Keep repeating it to yourself, and eventually it’ll sink in. She’s not interested.

He rounded a small hillock, following the stream which wound serpentine through the trees. Oh, shit.

Cassandra was just a ways ahead, bathing. She stood in a small pool, water up to her knees, her back turned to Varric. Rivulets of water traced down her skin as she wrung a cloth over herself.

She obviously hadn’t heard him approach. Well, what kind of rogue would he be if she had? A crappy one, that's what. Still, it was definitely wrong to use his stealth to watch her like this. To see how she drew the soapy cloth along the underside of her arm, then down her ribs. To watch as she dragged the lather up the inside of her legs, working the soap across her inner thighs. To stare as she went down on all fours in the shallow pool to rinse the suds, that absolutely flawless ass arched in the air, as if she was presenting herself to him.

_Maker’s. Fucking. Balls._ He needed to get out of there. _Now._

Wreathing himself in shadow, he went back the way he came. Once he got to the other side of the hill, he took a moment to collect himself. He was shaking. _Deep breaths, Varric. Deep breaths._

The sound of the Seeker’s now-familiar battle cry roused him. A second later the answering growl of a bear wiped any thought from his head. He ran back around the hill, making plenty of noise this time, drawing his crossbow to his shoulder.

Cassandra crouched on the bank of the stream, naked, dripping, mace in hand. The bear was barreling towards her, crossing the scant yards between them at a frightening pace.

She was unarmored. One swipe from the bear's claws across her abdomen would kill her, and not quickly, either. Varric didn’t even think. He lined the shot up, time seeming to slow as he aimed and pulled the trigger.

Momentum carried the bear forward, the now dead body slamming into Cassandra, the very tip of a crossbow bolt protruding from between its eyes.

The Seeker rolled, channeling her own inertia to avoid snapping an ankle as she fell. Varric ran to her, then skidded to a halt as she rose.

“Ah... are you okay?” he asked, trying to find a place to look that wasn’t her body. He settled on an area just over her head. He had to tip his head back, but hey. It was safe.

“I am not injured. Although,” she frowned, turning. A large, angry scrape marred her hip and ass. Little bits of gravel were stuck to the skin, already weeping blood.

Varric hissed and turned away. “That looks painful. I... uh, I think I have a potion,” he said, patting himself down. He heard splashing; she was probably cleaning the dirt from the scrape. He located his potion and held it awkwardly behind him. “It’ll take a minute to kick in, sorry. Vira won’t let me carry the good stuff,” he said.

The potion was taken from his hand. “What are you doing here, Varric?” Cassandra asked, an unspoken accusation in her voice.

“Aside from saving your life, you mean? Gathering rashvine,” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the sack of herbs he’d dropped.

He heard the faint glug as the bottle was emptied. “I... I apologize. I... appear to be... quite shaken.” Something in Cassandra’s voice was wrong. Varric wheeled around.

She was, in fact, shaking. “Shit,” Varric said. “You’re in shock.”

“I know that, dwarf,” she snapped angrily. She stumbled a bit, unsteady on her feet.

Varric guided her to a sitting position in a patch of sunny grass. Her skin was very cold from the bath, plus the suddenness of the attack, probably a fair amount of pain from the wound, and then another dip in cold water... yeah, that'd do it. “You don’t have a cloak, do you?” he asked.

“It is summer. Of course I don’t have a cloak,” she snapped bitterly.

He yanked off his duster and draped it over her shoulders. Grabbing her leggings, he rubbed the fabric briskly over her feet and calves, trying to force circulation to her extremities.

“I am not a horse, dwarf. I do not need a rub down,” she said, fumbling to pull her tunic over her head. She got caught halfway as the sleeves tangled in Varric’s coat. “Ugggggh,” she groaned in frustration. She gave up and punched her fists through the sleeves of his coat, pulling it around herself.

“Look, can you just shut up and hold still for a second? Not like I haven’t already seen you naked, Seeker.” Varric shook his head.

She growled curses under her breath. Varric looked at her. Her eyes were still pinpricks, and her breathing was shallow. “C’mon, Seeker, I thought you knew the drill. Deep breaths. Stay warm. What are you, a new recruit?”

Glaring at him, she sucked large gulps of air and let them out slowly. Only she could make deep breathing look angry. It would’ve been hilarious really, if his duster hadn’t fallen open, leaving Varric’s face inches from her heaving breasts, her dark nipples puckered tight from the cold bath, little droplets of water still gathered in the valley of her breastbone.

Varric wrenched his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly. Huffing a breath, he opened his eyes to re-focus on her feet and legs. He poked the skin experimentally. The little white circle left by the pad of his finger faded quickly. Good. Her blood was moving, at least. “Give me your wrist,” he said, holding out his hand. He checked her pulse. It was fast, but not dangerously so, and the pace was even.

“Thank you,” she said. “I do not think I would have fared well if you had not been here.”

“You’re welcome, Cassandra. You know you’re going to get a scolding for coming out here alone, right?”

“You are alone,” she pointed out. She leaned back to rest on her elbows. The coat was providing the barest minimum of modesty, draped now over her breasts, the long leather covering her to mid thigh. It looked fucking amazing. She drew one knee up slightly so that the leather seemed to cascade down her inner thigh. Varric bit back a groan.

“Yes, but I’m armed and armored and can be practically invisible,” he chided her. “You were naked.” _And wet, so, so wet, just absolutely dripping, and..._

“Well, I am alone no longer, nor naked, now that I’ve been rescued by my knight in shining....” she frowned, looking at the coat. “Is this nugskin?”

“I’ll have you know my coat is made of the finest snoufleur leather, thank you very much,” Varric sniffed. “It keeps me very warm.”

Cassandra sat up slightly. “I am, indeed, feeling much warmer.” Her gaze was direct.

Varric knew that look. After so many weeks of telling himself he’d never see it again, the sight set off an explosion of heat inside him. Her reaching up to run her fingers along his hairline and down his jaw didn’t help. “This is a terrible idea, Cassandra.” Despite his words, he drew her hand to his mouth, turning it over to brush the inside of her wrist with parted lips.

She gave a very small moan, drawing her legs together and arching her hips just the tiniest bit. “I am aware, Varric. Despite all evidence to the contrary, you do not have exclusive rights to poor decision making.”

The dwarf snickered into her wrist. His breath on the damp skin made her shiver. It was captivating. He should stop. Definitely. Now was the time to drop her hand and let her get dressed. Absolutely, no question, that would be best for him.

So, of course, Varric did it again, first lapping a lazy swipe of his tongue, then blowing on the delicate skin.

Her head lolled backwards and the moan she gave shot straight to his cock.

He chuckled. “I’d be happy to give you lessons, Seeker. My judgement is notoriously terrible.”

Her head snapped back up and she glared at him, her face full of insecurity. He could feel the sudden tension in her wrist.

_Varric, you complete and utter fool. Why do you even have boots, if you insist on keeping your feet in your mouth?_ “For example, I keep accidentally insulting the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. It takes lots of practice to be such an idiot, you know.”

His eyes fell closed as he continued to kiss her wrist, expecting at any second for her to snatch it away. When it didn’t happen, he opened his eyes again.

She was regarding him skeptically. It was better than the glare, at any rate. “Tell me of this woman. The most beautiful, you say? That sounds unlikely.”

“I beg to differ. She is....” Varric sighed into her skin as the welter of emotions competed for the privilege of being blurted out first, thereby completely ruining the moment past recovery. He moved his lips up her arm, trying to tease out something to say.

“Yes?” Cassandra demanded.

“She is stern and strong, a warrior queen like the legends of old.” He ran his lips over the inside of her forearm. “She brooks no compromise; her bravery is incomparable.” He followed his lips with his teeth, not biting, just running them gently along the vein. “Her skin is porcelain silk yet her blood runs with steel.” Now he pushed up the sleeve and traced the inside of her elbow with the tip of his tongue. “And when she smiles....”

Cassandra’s breath was coming slightly quicker. Her arm was once again relaxed in his grip. “Yes?” Her voice was a whisper.

_When she smiles, my heart breaks a little. When she smiles, I am ruined for anyone else. When she smiles, I realize... dammit I am so fucking in love with you, Cassandra._

Varric’s sinuses began to prickle and a different kind of warmth coursed through him, one tinged with pain. “When she smiles... her beauty leaves me speechless.”

Cassandra’s other hand snaked out to pull him close. She kissed him. It was everything Varric had remembered: heat and need and desperation and vulnerability. They both gave tiny gasps and moans as teeth nipped or lips sucked or tongues slid.

Varric inhaled sharply, pulling back just enough to break the kiss, though his forehead rested on hers. “Cassandra. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I only know I need it, Varric.” Her lips were on his again.

Varric groaned. That pretty much summed the whole thing up.

Cassandra yanked the coat open. “I need it,” she said again. Varric’s mouth dragged over her neck down to her breasts. He drew the dusky nipple into his mouth, flicking at the tip with his tongue, moaning as she arched her back in response.

His fingers raked up the inside of her thigh. Maker, she was already so wet. As her hips bucked, he plunged two fingers inside her, using his thumb to flick across her swollen knot of flesh.

“Please. Please, Varric.” Her voice was ragged with need, her hands fumbling with his waistband.

He withdrew his hand and rolled to kneel between her legs. His fingers flew to unlace his breeches. As he pulled them over his hips, he realized he was still wearing his boots. Dammit. Cassandra yanked him close. “Leave it,” she commanded. “I need you,” she said, as if that absolved him from the need to fully disrobe. As if taking her like this, rough and quick and desperate, was even remotely appropriate, given that she deserved to be worshipped slowly and thoroughly over the course of several hours, or perhaps the rest of his life.

But then her hand was on his straining cock, smearing his length with her own moisture, twisting and stroking. Whatever was left of his rapidly diminishing misgivings evaporated.

He slid into her, hilting himself in one smooth motion. She immediately started bucking against him, grinding her hips upwards.

Varric’s range of motion was limited by the trousers tangled around his thighs. Still, he rolled his hips as best he could, meeting her frantic rhythm, spurred by the sharp gasps she gave at each thrust, the sound he’d heard at Caer Bronach.

He reached down, brushing his knuckle against her, the previously swollen knot now stiff and slick. The gasps became moans, almost-words, broken cries. Varric, meanwhile, was grunting, gritting his teeth.

“Cassandra,” Varric gasped. “Ah, shit, _yes,”_ he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes.” He couldn’t seem to stop repeating it, a rhythmic whispered hiss.

“Varric,” Cassandra finally managed to say.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. He knew she could see the raw emotion in his face, the need. He knew she could see it because she reflected it back to him, in the slack of her parted lips, the tightness around her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, the intensity of her gaze.

The flesh under his finger grew impossibly stiff, and then Cassandra’s body shattered around him, spasms wracking through her. His own body could not withstand the onslaught; he spurted his release a moment later.

The euphoria didn’t last long. Varric almost immediately felt a hollowness in his chest. As intensely satisfying as it had been, there was no way to pretend he was anything but gutted at the prospect of this being their last time together. He hadn’t even pulled out of her yet and he already regretted it.

One look at Cassandra’s face told him she was conflicted as well, though how much wasn’t clear. He withdrew from her, carefully, then leaned back to re-arrange his breeches. He looked away while she cleaned quickly in the stream and dressed herself. By the time she was done, he’d managed to collect himself a bit. There would be time to wallow in self-pity later.

They walked back to the camp, not speaking, not touching. When the tents became visible, Varric stopped. Cassandra turned to him. “What is it?”

“I just... I need a minute, I think,” he said. _Or a lifetime. Preferably with you._ “You... you go on ahead,” Varric said, pointing towards the camp with his chin.

Cassandra frowned in concern. “Are you... in pain?”

_That's one way to put it._ Varric looked to the side, exhaling slowly. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about me, Seeker.” He twisted the corner of his mouth into a semblance of a smile, praying he wasn't giving Solas a run for his money in the "expressions of raw anguish" department.  

She looked unconvinced, but tilted her head in acknowledgement and turned towards the camp.

He wondered if watching her walk away would ever get easier.

 

 


	6. Blame it on Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Cullen's love letter to Vira starts a chain reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly less angst! And slightly more smut. One more chapter to go! Thanks for reading! I live for your comments, btw.

“Damn Cullen. Damn him straight to the Void.” Varric muttered to himself, rolling over in his bedroll.

“Varric, do be a dear and shut up,” Dorian said from next to him. “Some of us need our beauty rest. It takes work to look this good, you know.”

Varric bit back a witty reply, instead sighing heavily.

That was a mistake. Apparently the lack of a clever rejoinder piqued the mage’s interest. “What’s the matter?” Dorian asked.

Varric sighed again. “It’s nothing, Sparkler. Please. Don’t let me keep you from your precious, precious beauty sleep. I don’t want you waking up looking like Blackwall.”

“I heard that, dwarf,” a low voice rumbled from the next tent over.

“Sorry, Blackwall. You’re a paragon of manliness.” Varric called out.

Dorian snorted. “If you like bears,” he amended the statement.

“Do you like bears, Dorian?” Cole’s voice said calmly, his voice carrying from Blackwall’s tent.

“More into Bulls, personally.” Dorian stated.

“Will you gentlemen please shut the hell up?” Vira’s exasperated voice called out from yet another tent. “Lace and I are trying to sleep.”

“Yes, your worship,” Dorian said with exaggerated humility.

Varric lay in his blankets. That damn letter Cullen had written to the Inquisitor had been very, very romantic. Shit, who knew that uptight ex-Templar had it in him? The potential competition in the romance serial market aside, the bigger issue was Swords and Shields. It was nagging at Varric. It had been months since Vira had told him Cassandra was a fan. After he’d gotten done laughing till he cried, Varric agreed to write a sequel. But that was before... before they....

He rolled over to his other side. It had been a few weeks since he and Cassandra had gone to the Emerald Graves for the second time. The sting had been dulled, both by time and the enormity of peril they faced. Adamant had given him some much needed perspective, for instance. Still, every time he sat down to write, a blank page just stared at him.

Varric should have been able to write that crap in his sleep - the first volume was absolute drivel, all clashing steel and heaving bosoms. He’d mostly written it to piss off Aveline anyway, which worked. At least Donnic thought it was funny.

He knew what to do, of course. Varric had been a writer long enough to recognize the different forms of writer’s block. This particular strain was caused by the fact that he didn’t _want_ to be writing Swords and Shields. He _wanted_ to be writing love letters. Hopeless, romantic, heartbreaking love letters. He’d been ignoring the urge for months, until Cullen reminded him. Shit. He’d just have to get it out of his system. He could burn them once he was done and move on.

When they returned to Skyhold, Varric didn’t rush into things. He unpacked his kit, gathered fresh parchment and a few good quills, bought some new ink. Hell, he even bathed. With a few flagons of Cabot’s stout on the table in case he got thirsty, he began to write.

Once he started, the words poured out of him. Not the flowery, romantic phrasing Cullen favored, but the ragged, hopeless words of a man who knew the measure of pain. Because, didn’t he? Varric wondered if all those years pining for Bianca were just some sort of warm-up, gradually increasing his tolerance for heartbreak, the way Bull did with poison. The Maker sure did have a great sense of humor.

It was past midnight by the time he finished writing. He felt weak, somehow. Shaky. But also lighter, purified. Varric stared at the sheets. There was more in him to write. The next installment of the serial was now bubbling up inside him, the words right at his fingertips. Pulling another sheet of parchment to him, he dunked his quill in the ink and wrote the next chapter.

Even by Varric’s standards, the writing went very quickly. His first draft was done in two days; editing took another three. It was a vast improvement over the first volume, even if he did say so himself. Varric bound the sheaf of pages together and gave it to Vira.

He almost had decided against being there when the Inquisitor presented the book to the Seeker, but at the last minute he tagged along.

Cassandra was immediately suspicious. Andraste’s ass, when wasn’t she?

“What did you do, Varric?” The accusatory question seemed almost second nature.

He grinned. Somehow, having her blindly accusing him of mischief made the whole thing easier. “I brought you the next installment of Swords and Shields,” he smirked. “I hear you’re a fan.”

Cassandra’s frown deepened. She glared at the Inquisitor. “This is your doing.”

“That’s right,” Vira smiled.

“If you’re not interested, you’re not interested,” Varric said, beginning to walk away.

“Wait!”

He turned. Cassandra had a look of anguish on her face, her arm actually held out longingly. It was equal parts beautiful and hilarious.

“You’re probably wondering what happened to the knight-captain after the last chapter,” Varric guessed.

“Nothing should happen to her! She was falsely accused!” Cassandra’s eyes were wide as saucers.

Shit, she really _was_ a fan. Varric had been forced to re-read the last issue because he couldn’t remember what he’d written. The fact that she clearly had the thing memorized just made it even more endearing. A spark of anxiety came to life inside him. What if she didn’t like this new chapter? Better not think about that. “Well, it turns out, the guardsman -”

“Don’t _tell_ me!” She snatched the book out of his hand.

He caught her eye in an unguarded moment. Maker, but she was beautiful. He cleared his throat to cover the moment. “This is the part where you thank the Inquisitor. I... don’t normally give sneak peeks, after all.”

She turned her back to them, staring down at the book, running her hands over the cover. She wheeled about. “Thank you.” She smiled.

This was the... seventh, no, eighth time he’d seen her smile. Shit, when had he started keeping track?

“This was everything I’d hoped,” Vira grinned.

Varric turned. “Completely worth it,” he said to himself.

***

The knocking on the door was relentless. Varric wondered how long the rapping had gone on before he’d finally woken up. It had to be well past midnight. The sound wasn’t the heavy pounding that indicated trouble, but an insistent, patient knock. He pulled on his robe and knotted the belt.

“Seeker?” he blinked at the silhouette, wiping his eyes with his hands. He held the door wide when she did not respond.

Varric lit a candle from the embers of the fire. “Is something wrong?”

Once a few more tapers were lit, he could see her face. She looked... odd. Well, odd for Cassandra. He rarely saw her out of armor, for one. She was wearing a long linen nightdress, the fabric draping just so over her form. It wasn’t just that, though. Cassandra wasn’t scowling, or smiling, or... anything, really. Her face was placid. It made the scar on her cheek that much more pronounced, a reminder of violence on the calm facade.

She had the book with her. Cassandra sat at the table, opened the book to a dog-eared page, and began to read aloud:

_Evangeline,_

_I won’t do you the disservice of calling you ‘dearest’ or ‘darling’. We both know those words don’t come to my lips, nor are they necessary. You need no honorific; your place in my heart needs no title._

_We also both know you’ll be gone soon, on to bigger and better things. I’m proud of you, if I haven’t said it. I’m not going to lie: I wish things were different. I wish we had a hundred years of chaos and bloodshed and nights full of passion. Instead we have... well, we don’t really have anything, do we? Just the potential for something. Because every day in that hundred years is made up of thousands of moments, and now I’m imagining that each one was full of laughter and exasperation and heat and just the wonder of watching you be you. So now I mourn them, all of these moments that will never exist. Odd that it hurts so much, losing something I never had._

_I told you once I wouldn’t trade my time with you for anything, and I stand by that. And I’ll let you in on a little secret: from now on, every poem, every tale, every song I sing? They’re all you. All the heartbreak and the valor and the love, it’s all just your name, spelled differently._

_I‘ll never forget you. Donald._

Varric hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d slipped the letter into the serial itself, making it a missive from a bard that crosses path with the Knight-Captain just before she’s promoted out of the City. Varric listened to Cassandra read the words of his own love letter back to him, the jagged edges of her accent somehow making it all more poignant. He stood there, watching her eyes scan the lines, listening to her lips shape the words. And then she looked up at him.

“Varric,” she said finally.

Varric braced himself for Cassandra’s reaction. She didn’t seem angry, but she didn’t seem pleased, either.

“Did you really,” she began. “Did you really expect me to believe the Knight-Captain would fall in love with a bard?”

It took him a minute to realize what she had said.

“Uh, it could happen...?” Varric offered.

“That letter is from you, Varric.” It was not exactly an accusation.

He sighed. No point in pretending. “I couldn’t go through my life without telling you that I care for you, Cassandra. I thought... this way, you could pretend it was just a story, get a little warm feeling, maybe wonder for the rest of time if it was about you. I didn’t expect you to come barging down my door at two hours past midnight to interrogate me about it. Though, in retrospect, there’s plenty of precedent for it.”

She shook her head, putting her hand on the book, tracing the cover as she spoke. “You are, without a doubt, one of the most exasperating people I’ve ever met. You connive, you cheat, and I would not be the least surprised to find out that you steal. Yet over the time I’ve known you, you have proven yourself to be a loyal friend, and though you protest it with every breath, I know that you are a good man.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’, here.”

“There is no but. You are the most romantic person I’ve ever known. I did not truly understand the meaning of the word, until I met you.” Cassandra looked at him, her gaze steady.

“What? Me? Romantic?” Varric put a hand up to his chest. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I do not kid, Varric. What is romance, but passion contained? The poetry, the flowers, all of the trappings are mere symbols, shorthand for emotion, a way to express that which is almost impossible to convey. And yet you have done so, again and again. This time it was with plain words, in this... utterly ridiculous story about a storyteller and a warrior.” She picked up the book and tossed it to the table casually.

Varric blinked a few times. “So... I’m not exactly sure why you’re here, Cassandra. You’re impossible to read, you know that? If you could remember the rules, you’d give Josephine a run for her money at Wicked Grace. Are you... angry?”

“I am not angry, Varric. I merely question why we are doing this.” Cassandra said.

“Doing... what, exactly?”

“Torturing ourselves,” she said. “I also have feelings for you. This is not going away, no matter how we might ignore it. I might become Divine, true, but I might also get eaten by a bear tomorrow.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Varric squinted at her.

She punched his arm. “You know what I mean. We are already suffering, and for what? To make future suffering less painful?”

Varric held up his hands. “That is the theory,” he shrugged.

Cassandra shook her head. “I am no coward. I do not fear pain. And I do not live my life by measuring future regret like a miser in the counting-house.”

Varric wasn’t sure he got that metaphor, but he didn’t press the issue, as he realized he was quaking inwardly. “What are you saying?” He knew what she was saying, of course. He stepped a bit closer.

“I am saying, in two days’ time we march for the Arbor Wilds to face Corypheus’ forces. You and I will never have a hundred years of chaos and bloodshed and passion. But we do have a few more days, at least.” She tilted her head, leaning forward just the merest bit.

Varric kissed her. It... well, it hurt. The hopelessness of it all just wreathed around his heart. The last time they had kissed, the desperation had intensified the proceedings - it was all panting and searching and raw need.

Now, the ache seemed to slow time itself. Each brush of their lips, each glide of their tongues and drag of their teeth was a lifetime as they tried to make the sensations last. Gradually, the intensity grew; the shared breaths sharpened, then the honed edges became moans.

Varric reached to pull Cassandra forward, sliding her ass to the edge of the chair. Without breaking the kiss he gathered fistfulls of her nightdress and pushed it up over her knees and thighs.

He ran his hands up the silken skin inside her legs. When his fingers found a tangle of hair and slick skin instead of the fabric of her smallclothes, he groaned loudly, knowing she’d come here expecting this, wanting this. Wanting _him._

Cassandra pulled the knot from his robe, letting the fabric hang open. His cock was already bulging under his smallclothes; the sensation of Cassandra’s fingers slowly dragging them over his hips brought him to straining. He pressed up against her, wedged along her folds.

For a long moment they stayed like that, breathing into each other. Varric rocked his hips slightly, the friction rapidly diminishing as she grew wet. Her moans grew more insistent, rhythmic. Just as Varric was making ready to guide himself into her, she pulled away. “Bed,” she growled. “Now.”

He blinked in surprise, smiling just a little. “Your wish is my command.”

Varric hopped on to the bed, unsure of exactly what Cassandra had in mind. She rose, drawing the nightdress off in one graceful swoop as she stalked to the bed. She pushed him down by one shoulder so that he lay on his back.

“What are -” Varric’s question evaporated as he felt her lips on his cock. She’d never expressed any interest in that before and he hadn’t pressed the issue. The fact that she could no doubt taste herself on him just made the whole thing that much more intoxicating.

After a moment, though, Varric sensed something was wrong. Well, not wrong, exactly - he had a beautiful woman willingly putting her mouth on him. Hard to make that seem wrong. But he could sense Cassandra’s frustration; her lips and tongue skittered over him, unsure; there was no sensation to focus on, no rhythm to follow. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands - they were twisted in the sheets.

It suddenly hit him. _She’s never done this before. She doesn’t know what to do, and she’s embarrassed._ The realization made him gasp for air. It was probably difficult enough for her to decide to come to him in the middle of the night like this. To realize she was trying so hard to please him made his lungs constrict.

He unclenched one of her hands from the sheets and brought it up to his mouth. He licked two of her fingers, then sucked them in, holding them around the base with his thumb and forefinger, pulsing his tongue along her fingertips. She sighed against him, relaxing at the sensation. After a moment she began to mimic him, and Maker, was she a quick study.

When she drew her hands away to grasp him, he looked down at her, his breath starting to quicken. Her hips had started making little sympathetic motions into the bed, grinding along with the movements of her mouth and tongue. It was fucking _spectacular._ Years of combat training had given the Seeker a level of control over her body that most people only dream about. There was something so... well, straightforward about the way she moved. Nothing coquettish or flagrantly seductive, none of the pretense that he’d known with other women. She did not tease or flatter.

Varric arched his hips in time, just the tiniest bit, and she moaned. It took everything Varric had not to buck himself into her mouth at the sensation. “Ah - Cassandra, keep that up and -ngh- things will be over rather - ah! - quickly,” Varric warned.

She jerked her head up and looked at him. Her pupils were blown out, her lips swollen and wet and it took some very deep breaths to keep Varric from losing it, seeing her that way.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked.

“No, but you might,” he said through gritted teeth. “Unless you want me to be asleep in the next five minutes.”

“I had... other plans in mind,” she admitted, rearing back to kneel. She then very, very deliberately lowered herself to all fours. She was already rocking back and forth a little bit.

Varric groaned at the sight, actually bringing his hand up to wipe his face. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, Varric. I am not trying to kill you.” Cassandra’s voice was raw. “I am trying to get you to -” she exhaled sharply a few times before continuing, “-to fuck me.”

Varric squirmed out from underneath her. There was not enough deep breathing in the world that would keep him from holding himself together, seeing and hearing her like that.

He came around behind her, kneeling between her knees. Varric ran his hands over the curve of her ass and down her inner thighs. She gave a growling whimper of frustration.

“Easy, easy,” he said. “There’s no hurry, is there?”

“The hurry is I need it,” Cassandra growled, rocking back and forth a bit more.

“Cassandra, I just need to taste you. Just for a minute.” He dragged a finger through the now-dripping folds. “Can I do that?”

“Ugh, yes, please, something, _anything,”_ she pleaded.

Varric did not need to be told twice. His tongue was everywhere - plunging into her, lapping the length of her crease, flicking at the swollen flesh at the apex. He knew the sounds his mouth were making were utterly obscene; the thought made him groan into her, which in turn teased a moan from her lips.

He settled into a pace, sucking at the knot of flesh, his nose just teasing her entrance. It did not take long for her to stiffen further, and she began to try to grind against his face. Much as he wanted to make her come this way, he knew there was something else she wanted more.

He stood, leaving her just at the edge. At her frustrated whimper, he laid a hand on her lower back. “Cassandra. I’m going to fuck you now. Are you ready?”

She was nodding before he’d finished the question. “Please, Varric. I... I just... please.”

He slid into her. At this angle, there was no resistance, no need to settle or adjust or move limbs out of the way. He thrust firmly a few times, waiting for her to say it. He knew she would.

“Harder,” she panted, backing back against him. “Harder.”

Holding her hips with both hands, he began to give it to her, like she wanted. Like she’d asked for the very first time, in Halamshiral. After a few seconds she tensed against him, wanting that extra bit of force, allowing their skin to smack together.

A steady beat of _yes_ and _please_ and _that's it_ was dropping from Cassandra’s mouth. And then he felt something change. Her head, which had been hanging down loosely, snapped up, as if she was staring at a point on the headboard, and her body was somehow both tighter and looser around him, and much, much wetter. The jumbled words she was muttering crashed together to form just one, _harder_. Her voice was louder, more insistent, the pitch higher. _Harder. Harder._

The last syllable was a wail as the waves of her orgasm began to roll through Cassandra. Varric came undone, his hips snapping into her. He could feel the spasms as her muscles clenched, drawing his own orgasm out even longer, thrusting as much as he could, rapidly, at last grinding into her shuddering body.

In Swords and Shields, the protagonist tended to collapse, spent, on to the body of their lover, and then the next chapter would conveniently begin. Varric’s real life experiences tended more towards a friendly pat on the rump of the fair maiden of the day as she made her way back into the tavern, leaving him to sleep alone.

Cassandra did neither of these things. She pulled away from Varric with feline grace and rolled off the bed. “Avert your eyes for a moment,” she commanded. He obeyed, slumping gratefully to the mattress; he guessed she was cleaning up a bit. He wondered if she was going to leave. He wondered how he felt about the prospect. “Yes” and “bad” were all he could muster at the moment.

But she didn’t leave. “Get up,” she ordered.

“I beg your pardon? This is my room, you know.” He rolled over to look at her.

“You are on top of the blankets,” she pointed out in exasperation. She was still naked, her hands on her hips. It was a posture he’d seen so often, though usually it preceded an order or an objection. Which, to be fair, this kind of was. He laughed at the absurdity of it all and scampered under the covers, smiling as she followed.

“So... you’re staying the night, then?” he asked hesitantly. She had wrapped herself around his side, nestling his body into the crook of her arm. It was... well it was pretty damn cozy.

“Do you not want me to?” she said, looking down at him.

“Of course. I’m just... I’m just surprised. It’s all a bit unbelievable, you know.”

“It is exactly as plausible as a bard and the Knight-Captain,” she pointed out. “Totally ridiculous. No one will ever believe it.”

“What did you think of the rest?” Maker, why did he ask that? Never, _ever_ ask your readers for feedback, his editor had told him.

“It was not smutty enough,” she complained. “You will have to make it up to me. I am sure you will find a way.”

Varric shook his head. Seeker Cassandra. Made a joke. About sex. In his bed.

“You’re right. No one will ever believe this, Cassandra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read the Commander's letter (I highly recommend, the chapter is a bit of fluffy comedy) it is [located here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3702131/chapters/8775388)


	7. Wasted Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite his misgivings, Varric attends the election of the new Divine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting and being so wonderfully wonderful! I hope to have some drabbles of these two at some point. They are too much fun to keep on the shelf.

It was the morning of the fourth day of the election. The sun rose on the Grand Cathedral, basking the palace in a rosy golden light. Varric wished it wasn’t quite so... pretty. He felt like shit, hadn’t slept in days. The least the sky could do would be to reflect his black mood. Thunderstorms, maybe, great masses of dark roiling clouds streaking across the heavens. That’d be a start.  

But what he got were these friendly white puffs with pink bellies. Varric gave a yawning sigh as he watched the incontrovertibly cute clouds float past his window. Sitting up, he wiped his eyes, the grit of insomnia feeling like bounders. 

The period after Corypheus’ defeat should have felt like victory, but somehow it was more like a terminal illness. To be fair, it was a pleasant illness, nothing physically painful. But he knew what was coming. They both did. To make matters more difficult, they’d had to be very careful. Although there was no specific proscription against candidates for the Divine to engage in ‘dalliances’, as the Seeker called them, it certainly wasn’t looked at as a plus. Especially when non-humans were involved. 

So there was a lot of sneaking around. A lot of wasted time, waiting for chances to be together. A lot of significant glances, holding hands under the table, standing too close. On the one hand, Varric would take whatever he could get. On the other hand, it sucked, having to play pretend. And it sucked even harder, having to hold back. He loved Cassandra; he’d known it for months. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not outright. It would just make it that much harder.

Varric shook the thoughts from his head. He swung his legs out of the cot and hopped to the floor. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he padded to the chest in the corner and began rooting through it, pulling out clothing.

“Go back to sleep, Varric,” the lump of blankets in the other bed groaned. “It’s too early.”

“Sparkler, you’re not even looking out the window. How do you know what time it is?” Varric grumbled.

“I have an excellent internal chronometer.” Dorian’s muffled voice stated. He face emerged from the bedding. Squinting, he craned his neck at the window, then poked his head back under the covers. “See, I’m right. When will you learn that I’m always right, Varric?”

Varric didn’t even bother arguing. He was too tired. “I’m going to go get something to eat, Sparkler. You coming or what?”

Huffing in frustration, Dorian flounced the covers back. “Fine, fine. But only because all the good pastries were gone by the time I got there yesterday.”

“That’s because it was lunchtime.”

The dwarf had opted to participate as a member of the Inquisition retinue which accompanied the candidates to Val Royeaux, along with Josephine, Dorian, and Cullen. The prospect of seeing Cassandra for a few more days during the journey to Val Royeaux outweighed the pain of the impending loss. Plus, there was no way he could just sit back in Skyhold and wait for a messenger bird.

Still the process was dragging out much longer than expected. Varric would’ve preferred a quick election. Everyone knew Cassandra was the only possible choice. Leliana had publicly stated her views on disbanding the circles, which would garner practically no support from a populace terrified of mages. And she was about as cold-hearted as they came. Vivienne had come out in favor of restoring the circles, thereby completely ignoring the reason mages had rebelled in the first place. Plus the woman was a mage herself. That was just never going to happen. No, Cassandra was the obvious front-runner - her leadership skills were known, she was in favor of moderate reform, and her devotion to Andraste was never doubted for a second. 

The only unknown in the whole debacle was the Inquisitor. As the only person with first-hand knowledge of all three candidates, plus, you know, the whole saving-the-world thing, her counsel was in very high demand. The current crop of Grand Clerics were all new, their predecessors having been killed at the Conclave. A forgiving person would grant them the wisdom of seeking the advice of the Inquisitor. Varric was not a forgiving person; he thought they should just hoist their tits and make a decision. But, hey, that was just him.

The whole thing was becoming rather funny, in fact. The Grand Clerics were supposed to sequester themselves during the course of the election. No inside or outside influence. And yet a parade of minor nobles requested audiences with Vira, all accompanied by servants with full face masks and deeply cowled hoods. They literally lined up in the corridor outside Vira's door. The fiction was transparent, of course, like so much of the Game.

The dining hall was not yet crowded. Cullen sat with his back to them, reading a report, a cup of tea poised halfway to his mouth. Dorian winked at Varric and snuck up on the Commander. 

“Sleep well?” the mage drawled, directly into his ear.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen shouted, predictably sloshing the tea everywhere. 

Varric shook his head and handed Cullen a napkin as he took a seat. “Sparkler, seriously, are you ten years old?”

“The Commander is too serious. Everyone knows it,” Dorian said with a haughty sniff. 

“Yes, because this is the time and place for frivolity. How stupid of me to have overlooked it,” Cullen grumbled, mopping at the report.

Varric poured himself a large cup of tea and added a lump of sugar. “I’m with you, Curly.”

“Pssh,” Dorian waved them off. “Varric, I keep telling you, it’ll be _fine._ They’re not going to pick her,” he said, selecting a tiny cake from a platter in the center of the table. 

Varric glanced at Cullen, catching the man in the act of shaking his head slightly, frowning at the mage.

“What. What do you know?” Varric demanded. “You’re not holding out on me, are you?”

Cullen sighed. “No, Varric. To be honest, I haven’t spoken to Vira about it since we arrived. She refuses to discuss it.”

“Well what was that look for?”

Cullen shrugged. “I know who I would pick,” he said simply.

“Yeah, me too,” Varric said. He slurped at his tea.

“Varric when was the last time you ate? As in an actual meal, not overly-sweet tea or beer?” Dorian frowned at him in concern, taking his chin in hand and turning his face from one side to the other. “You look a bit green.”

“I haven’t been very hungry, mother dearest,” Varric said, yanking his chin out of Dorian’s hands.

“You really should eat something,” Cullen agreed. “You’ll thank me later.” 

Varric sighed and reached for an apple. Just then, two bells began to toll in steady rhythm, singing out over the palace from the towers.

There was a moment where everyone in the room stopped what they were doing. Then there was a mad scramble towards the exit. The decision had been made. The election was over.

The crowd which had gathered in the courtyard all had their eyes trained on the central balcony. “Excuse me, yes, coming through, official Inquisition envoys here, make way, excuse us please.” Dorian tried to push his way through the crowd. “Fasta vass, I wish Bull was here,” he grumbled. 

Varric watched as Cullen put a hand on his shoulder. “Allow me.” Cullen straightened his shoulders, letting his face fall into an implacable expression. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the pommel of his sword. Then he began to march.

The crowd parted for him like a hot knife through butter. He didn’t even say anything. People just moved to the side.

“How is he doing that?” Dorian whispered to Varric. 

Cullen got twenty feet ahead and turned. “Coming, gentlemen?” His face was a stern mask, one eyebrow cocked in mild concern.

Varric thought it was probably a good thing that Bull wasn’t there to see the look that crossed Dorian’s face as he saw Cullen looking so commanding. Or maybe he’d be into it, who knows. The dwarf trotted to keep up with Cullen, focusing on watching the man’s boots as the strode forward. The polished leather creased and released with each footfall. Varric honed all his attention on these boots, trying desperately to quell the tide of dread rising in him.

And then they were at the front of the crowd. On one side of the balcony, the Empress stood, pale and cold, her golden mask glinting in the sun. Briala stood half a pace behind her. Vira stood on the other side of the balcony, because of course she did. Oddly enough, she was dressed in Dalish robes, the Inquisition insignia embroidered over the heart, her flaming hair twisted elaborately and held with wood pins. The sight was incongruous, especially in Orlais. It must mean something significant, Varric knew, but what? She winked at him.

A wild hope sprung into Varric’s heart. After a moment, a herald announced Divine Victoria. The woman’s head was bowed, her hands clasped in the long sleeves, the traditional pose of Chantry sisters everywhere. And then she raised her face to the crowd. 

Leliana.

_ Holy. Fucking. Shit. _ It was  _ Leliana . _

There was a roaring in Varric’s ears, and he blinked against the sudden tunnel vision. His knees began to give out. 

“Psst,” Dorian said from next to him. The mage wiggled the staff planted firmly in between them, eying it significantly. 

Varric gulped and nodded, then grasped the carved wood for support gratefully. Leliana was talking, something about great change, courage, the rights of non-humans... Varric didn’t give a flying fuck at the moment. The point was, it was  _ her  _ talking. Leliana, and _not_ Cassandra.

Gradually Varric found his vision and hearing had returned to normal. And then there was cheering; he was too surprised to contribute. 

“What just happened?” he asked no one in particular as the crowd started to disperse behind them.

Cullen was frowning. He gave a deep sigh. “Challenging times ahead, I fear.” He shook his head.

“Well that's cheery,” Dorian said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

They were back in the dining hall, resuming their aborted breakfast. Varric found his appetite had returned, and with a vengeance. He was tucking into a second scone when Vira walked up.

She’d changed out of the Dalish robes and was wearing her normal tunic and leggings. Varric always marveled at how, when Vira wasn’t in Inquisition regalia, the Orlesians hardly glanced at her. She was just another elf. 

With a satisfied sigh, Vira plopped herself into a chair. “Hello, gentlemen. Please tell me someone saved me a danish.” She poured herself a cup of tea.

Cullen was shaking his head. “How could you -” He stopped short, lowering his voice. “How could you do that?  _ Leliana? _ It’s going to be a bloodbath, and you know it,” Cullen hissed.

Vira’s eyebrow shot up. The air fairly crackled with tension. “My dear  _ Commander,” _ she began, emphasizing the word. “Of all people, I need not remind you of what happened in Kirkwall. How many more people like Anders are running around, eager for an excuse to cause more destruction if we try to re-establish the circles?”

Cullen bowed his head respectfully. “A fair point, Inquisitor.”

Varric held his breath through the exchange. He often wondered what the dynamic was between those two, professionally. Well, there was his answer. 

“Besides,” Vira continued. “I need Cassandra to rebuild the Seekers. Not to mention, Briala supported Leliana as well.”

“Is that why you wore the robes?” Dorian asked. “A not-so-subtle reminder of the power a Dalish has in her pretty little hands?”

Vira laughed. “Full marks, Dorian. Which reminds me - Varric, I need a spymaster,” she said. 

“Done,” Varric said. 

Dorian blinked. “You’re not even going to think about it?”

“What’s to think about, Sparkler? I had been planning to go back to Kirkwall, but somehow... my plans have... changed a bit.” Varric spoke progressively slower as he spied a familiar silhouette in the entrance. 

Cassandra stood, posture impeccable, her hands clasped in front of her as she toyed with her gloves. She scanned the room, looking among the crowded tables. And then she saw him. 

And she  _ smiled. _

Time did not seem to stand still, as Varric had sometimes written. The room did not seem to get smaller, nor did the sounds of the bustle around them recede. None of the cliches he’d lazily relied upon in the past applied to this moment. It was just two people, smiling at each other. 

It was just two people, in love. 

She made her way over to him, still smiling. “May I join you?”

Varric hopped up and pulled a seat out for her. “Of course, Seeker.” He was practically vibrating from excitement. 

“What, that's  it? You’re not going to, I don’t know, sweep him into your arms and kiss him? Nothing?” Dorian looked crestfallen.

“Not everyone is the Iron Bull,” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “I am not about to carry Varric out of here like a bride on her wedding day.” She reached for the teapot. “Much as I want to,” she said, with a smirk.

Varric reached under the table and squeezed her knee. “Try the scones. They’re quite delicious.”

“Well!” Vira said, standing briskly. “I find myself in a rather desperate need to be anywhere else right now, how about you gentlemen?” 

Cullen and Dorian rose and followed her out.

Cassandra’s smile faded a bit. “You know it will not be easy. The Inquisitor has pledged her support to help me rebuild the Seekers. I will be gone for long periods of time. I can never marry or have children. I cannot -”

“Whoa whoa whoa, there, Seeker,” Varric held up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He took her hand. “I’ll be happy with just being able to tell you I love you.”

Cassandra had begun to frown as he spoke. “What are you saying, Varric? Do you not wish to -” She stopped dead as she realized what he’d said. “What? What did you say?”

“I love you,” he said again, watching her reaction. 

Her face was frozen, caught between disbelief and acceptance. “Say it again,” she challenged.

Chuckling, Varric did as he was told. “I love you, Cassandra.”

For the first time in his life, he was glad to see tears in her eyes. 

“Even with... all that has happened between us, I never thought it possible.” Cassandra said, shaking her head as she looked down at him.

He cleared his throat meaningfully. “You know, it’s traditional to reciprocate in these little romantic sentiments.”

She frowned and swatted him on the shoulder. Because of course she did. “I know that, dwarf. I do not need to be reminded to tell you that I love -” Again, her voice cut out suddenly, realization wiping the annoyance off her face. “I love you,” she said. She tilted her head to the side, as if she was hearing an echo of her own words. “I love you,” she said again.

The wonder on her face was just.... He’d never seen her so beautiful. 

“Varric, are you crying?” She peered at his face.

“Only a little! Cut me a little slack, would you?” Varric laughed, wiping his eyes. “I’m allowed. You said it yourself - I’m the most romantic person you know. I wrote the book on romance.”

“You did,” she agreed, her voice solemn. “Make sure the sequel is smuttier. The last one was far too chaste.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem.”


End file.
